


Through the Maelstrom

by BenAddictViolaBatch



Series: Through the Maelstrom [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, American John, And Those Screaming Buttons, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bees, Blow Jobs, Chance Meetings, Classical Music, Closeted John Watson, Concerts, Dog Tags, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Heterochromia, Internalized Homophobia, Johnlock Roulette, Kansas City, M/M, Meet-Cute, Musical References, Natural Disasters, Nightmares, Oh God... Those Buttons, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, POV John Watson, Past James Sholto/John Watson, Past Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Period-Typical Homophobia, Record Collections, Rock and Roll, Running, Sexual Content, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's shirts, Shower Sex, Slash, Storms, Tuxedos, Vietnam Veteran John, Vietnam War, Violinist Sherlock, Wall Sex, flood - Freeform, tokens of affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenAddictViolaBatch/pseuds/BenAddictViolaBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a doctor who meets a gorgeous British violinist in a chance encounter in Kansas City in 1977. </p><p>John is a native of Kansas City, and as such, he uses Midland American speech patterns, idioms, and spellings in his dialogue and his narrative. </p><p>Note:  I would like to be clear that the only reason condoms are not used in this story is because it would be anachronistic. Please be safe!</p><p>Cover art for this work:</p><div class="tumblr-post">
  <p>    <a href="http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com/post/145406806585/cover-art-for-my-ao3-fic">http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com/post/145406806585/cover-art-for-my-ao3-fic</a><br/><br/></p>
</div>Visit me on Tumblr:<p>http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About the Setting
> 
> The Country Club Plaza (referred to by locals as "the Plaza") is a shopping, dining, office, and living area located in Kansas City. 
> 
> The Plaza is known for its architecture, which is patterned after Seville, Spain. It features mosaics, murals, decorative tile, statues, fountains, and replicas of the Giralda tower and the Plaza de la Virgen de Los Reyes fountain. Another main feature of the Plaza is the JC Nichols memorial fountain, the most iconic fountain in Kansas City, which has more fountains than any other city in the world except Rome. 
> 
> Founded in 1922, the Plaza was the first shopping center in the world to be designed for customers arriving in cars. Extensive use of underground and rooftop parking structures allows shoppers to park near their destinations without large parking lots marring the architectural features of the area. 
> 
> The Plaza's Christmas lights are a longstanding tradition in Kansas City. Since 1930, the lights have been switched on by a local celebrity in a ceremony held on Thanksgiving night. They remain lit 24 hours a day until mid January.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an intensely personal work, influenced not only by the history of my home town, but by my own family's history. 
> 
> This work is dedicated to L. The journey John takes over the course of this story is one that L. couldn't take. I hope he has found the peace that eluded him in life.

Monday, August 1st, 1977

3:15pm

John made his way down the sidewalk. The weather wasn't excessively hot, and there were more people on the Plaza than usual. John noticed a man weaving through the crowd, moving quickly in his direction. The man was tall, dark-haired, and quite... striking, actually. As John watched, the man darted around a slow-moving couple. He then slipped between John and another couple, shouldering John aside without looking at him.

"Hey!" John said indignantly, turning to see if the man had any idea he'd nearly knocked John down. The man didn't look back. He merely glanced to his right before stepping into the street directly in front of a moving car.

John reacted without thinking, leaping forward and grabbing the man's shirt. He yanked the man back out of the street. The man jabbed his elbow into John's ribs, and they both overbalanced and tumbled down onto the sidewalk. John hit the pavement hard, landing on his left shoulder. He cried out in pain. The man dropped on top of him for a split second before leaping to his feet and towering over John with fury in his eyes. " _What the hell was that?_ " he growled, hands up in an aggressive posture.

John glared up at the man, clutched at his shoulder, and snarled back through gritted teeth, " _That was me saving you from being hit by that car, jackass!_ " He gestured at the car with his right elbow.

The man's eyes followed John's gesture to the car rounding the corner at the end of the block. He visibly deflated. "Oh... God... I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?"

"It's an old injury. But I landed right on it." John rubbed at his shoulder, rolling it slightly in an attempt to relax the cramping muscles. "The elbow you threw didn't help." He gave the man a pointed look.

The man crouched down and looked into John's eyes. John just looked back for a moment, trying to decide what color the man's eyes were. They seemed to be green, blue, and gray all at the same time. _Heterochromia_ , John thought to himself. There were flecks of gold in both eyes, and a brown spot above the man's right pupil.

He realized the man was speaking to him again. "I'm terribly sorry. You caught me by surprise, but that's no excuse." The man took John's right hand and helped him up. He then bent down and retrieved the shopping bags they had both dropped. "Again, I'm quite sorry for knocking you down. Will you let me buy you a drink in the cafe across the street? Give you a chance to recover?"

John was registering the fact that the man's accent was British. He realized he was just standing there holding his shoulder and staring mutely at the man. He blinked and rolled his shoulder a little. Then he smirked. "Are you sure you can get across in one piece?"

The man rolled his eyes. "I was distracted. Even after five years in this country, I _still_ sometimes forget to look _left_ when I enter the street." He shook his head in exasperation. "Embarrassing."

"You should actually look both ways, you know." John let a half smile cross his face.

"I'll take it under advisement." The man smiled back. He put his right hand out. "Sherlock Holmes."

John let go of his shoulder and shook Sherlock's hand. "John Watson." He stepped forward as he resumed massaging his shoulder. "Come on."

Sherlock walked with John across the street to the cafe. John couldn't help noticing that Sherlock looked both ways before stepping into the street this time.

They sat at a small table next to the window. When John ordered iced tea to drink, Sherlock's face scrunched up in disgust. Sherlock ordered a Coke. As the waiter walked away, John asked, "What was that face about?"

Sherlock gave him an imperious glare. " _Iced? Tea?_ "

"So? I thought British people drink tea all the time."

"Most British people drink tea, yes. _Proper_ tea. If you don't understand the difference between real tea and the appalling substance Americans serve in its stead, then I can't help you." Sherlock stood up. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I need to make a phone call." He walked toward the pay phone in the cafe's entryway.

As John watched him walk away, he stretched his shoulder. It was already much better. His eyes drifted down the lines of Sherlock's back. He looked away immediately, scolding himself. _What do you think you're doing, John?_

As the waiter set their drinks on the table, Sherlock came back and sat down again. He arranged himself artfully in his chair, leaning back and crossing his legs. He draped one arm over his knee and rested the other on the table. The buttons on his expensive-looking black shirt were barely holding. _God, he looks like some kind of... magazine cover_ , John thought. _Who wears their shirts that tight?_

As the waiter walked away, Sherlock said, "Sorry for the interruption. I've cancelled this afternoon's meeting. I'm all yours now."

"Oh, y-you didn't need to do that on my account," John stammered. His brain had short-circuited a little on that last sentence of Sherlock's. "I'm fine. My shoulder is already feeling better."

"It's no problem, John. I'll meet with Lestrade tomorrow. I'd like to make amends for accosting you in the street, however unintentional it was." He took a drink of his Coke.

"You were rushing off to a meeting? You really didn't have to cancel..."

Sherlock waved his hand toward John. "It's fine. I was late anyway. The clerk at that shoe store was a complete idiot. He couldn't manage to use his own cash register." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John took a drink of his iced tea. Sherlock grimaced at him and John snickered. "This is very good." He held the glass out toward Sherlock. "Want to try it?"

Sherlock recoiled in disgust.

John snickered again and pulled the glass back. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." He set the glass down. "So, what do you do, Sherlock?"

"I'm a violinist."

John raised his eyebrows. " _Really?_ Do you play for the Philharmonic?"

"Yes."

"That's great! You must be very talented."

"Hmm." Sherlock looked out the window. He took a sip of his drink. He set it down and began fidgeting with the glass, spinning it slowly on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just never know what to say when people say that to me."

"It happens a lot?"

"Yes. Or they ask me to 'play a tune' for them." He cringed.

"Well, then I promise to never ask you to 'play a tune.'" John broke into a grin. "I know what it's like to get the same awkward responses every time people find out what you do. I bet you've never had someone drop their pants in the middle of a dinner party and ask you to diagnose the frankly terrifying growth on their ass."

Sherlock burst out laughing. It was beautiful. "You're right. No one has ever done that to me. I suppose that puts being asked to 'play a tune' into perspective."

He looked into John's eyes. The light from the window was catching in Sherlock's eyes, making them glow a vibrant mossy green. John looked down, chastising himself again. _Stop looking at him like that._

"What type of medicine do you practice, John?"

"Emergency. I'm at St. Luke's."

"Do you enjoy your work?"

"Well, I won't pretend I don't have difficult days, but I'm good at it and I like helping people. Do you enjoy your work, Sherlock?"

"Most of the time, yes. Definitely this week. We're performing 'Scheherazade.' It's a personal favourite of mine."

"Scheherazade? Like the character in 'Arabian Nights'?"

"Yes." Sherlock looked mildly impressed that John knew the book.

"So you're playing a... symphony about Scheherazade?"

"A symphonic poem, yes. It's Rimksy-Korsakov."

"I'm going to pretend I understood that."

Sherlock laughed again. "You don't listen to classical music, I take it?"

"No, not really. I _like_ music. A lot, actually. But my taste runs more to Zeppelin and Hendrix than it does to... Mozart."

"You think classical music is boring, don't you?"

John shook his head. "I wouldn't say that."

Sherlock chuckled. "Maybe you wouldn't _say_ it, but it _is_ what you think." He leaned forward onto the table. "Classical music isn't all the same, you know. And it's much more interesting live. I'd like the opportunity to change your mind. Come to one of the concerts this weekend. I think you'll like it. And if you don't, you won't have wasted any money on it because I can get you a comp ticket."

John grinned. "I'll think about it. I've never been to the Philharmonic."

"Do think about it." Sherlock sat back again. He paused. "Do you mind if I ask what happened to your shoulder? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

John smiled ruefully. _Do I tell him the truth?_ John looked into Sherlock's eyes. _Yes. The truth._ "It's okay. I... was shot."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Really?"

"In Vietnam." John braced himself for Sherlock's response. He'd had people react viciously when he revealed his military service.

"Oh... I'm sorry..."

John began to relax. "It was over four years ago. I'm fine."

"You were wounded in combat?"

"I was stationed at a field hospital. We came under fire and I was hit."

"I'm so sorry, John."

"It's fine, really. I was able to save a few lives before the injury took me out."

"I'll bet it was more than a few."

John ducked his head. "Two and a half tours."

"Thank you for telling me. You don't talk about it much, do you?"

"Not usually." John took a drink of his tea. He was silent for a moment. "What brought you to Kansas City, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled. "An employment offer from the Philharmonic."

"Do you like living in America?"

"Yes, although there are definitely things I miss about home." He looked pointedly at John's tea.

John laughed. He and Sherlock sat and talked until the cafe started to fill with customers for dinner. Their waiter had been to their table a few times asking if they needed anything before giving them up as a lost cause.

John was fighting a battle with himself the entire time he was with Sherlock. Every time he locked eyes with him, and every time his gaze wandered down Sherlock's body, he forced himself to look down at the table or his own hands. _Stop this, John. Just get up, thank him, and leave._ But he was enjoying Sherlock's company immensely. He'd never met anyone like him. When Sherlock offered to buy John dinner, he accepted, reluctant to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over them both. But the battle continued. _What are you doing, John? What do you think is going to happen here?_

John and Sherlock stayed at the cafe while the other customers came and went. As it grew later in the evening, the cafe began to empty again. Sherlock paid the bill as he'd offered to, but John insisted he allow him to leave the tip. John gave the waiter an enormous tip as an apology for commandeering the table for the entire evening.

Sherlock and John picked up their shopping bags and walked outside. The evening air was pleasantly cool. "Which way are you headed, Sherlock?"

"East. Then south over the bridge."

"So am I. I'll walk with you."

"I'd like that, John." Sherlock smiled shyly at him.

As they walked together, John was still in conflict. _Now you're taking the long way home so you can stay with him? Stop this, John. Stop it now._

After they crossed the bridge over Brush Creek, Sherlock pointed at an impressive apartment tower. "That's my building," he said.

"Wow," John blurted out. He felt his face flush pink. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"It's all right." Sherlock said, ducking his head. "I know it's a bit ostentatious. My brother arranged it for me before I arrived in Kansas City. I could move, of course, but I never got around to it. I actually like my flat - my apartment - quite a lot, but you must never let my brother find out." Sherlock grinned at him conspiratorially.

John grinned back. He walked toward the main entrance of Sherlock's building with him. Sherlock stopped and turned to face John. He put his shopping bag down on the sidewalk. The large fountain in front of the building kept them out of view of the cars passing by.

Sherlock smiled warmly at John. "I enjoyed this afternoon - and this evening, John."

John couldn't help smiling back. "I enjoyed it too, Sherlock. Thank you for dinner." He extended his hand.

Sherlock took John's hand. He shook it as John had intended, but he didn't let go. John's heart started beating too fast.

Sherlock put his left hand up to John's face. His thumb lightly brushed over John's cheekbone as his fingertips landed just behind John's ear. John's heart was pounding now. Panic was rising rapidly in his chest. He staggered backward, yanking his hand out of Sherlock's grip.

Confusion and hurt passed over Sherlock's face. "John?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." John was still backing up. He felt dizzy with panic. "I'm sorry. I have to... go. I have to go. I'm sorry." He turned and started walking away quickly.

"John, wait -"

Guilt and pain shot through John's heart when he heard Sherlock's voice, but he couldn't stop. It was all he could do to walk away rather than run.

The world shrank down to just his racing heart and his panic. He found himself at his apartment door with little memory of walking home. He struggled to get his key into the lock with trembling hands. When he finally shut himself inside his apartment, he dropped his keys and shopping bag and fell back against the door. He put his hands over his face and slid to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates until the story is complete at 15 chapters. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday, August 4th, 1977

8:45am

John poked at his scrambled eggs with his fork. _I've got to apologize, at least._ He was exhausted from his night shift at the hospital. _But he won't want to see me after I ran away from him like that. He won't want anything to do with me._

John got up and put his plate in the sink. He turned around and leaned against the counter, scrubbing his hand over his face. He'd been thinking of nothing but Sherlock for the last three days. _You were supposed to forget about him, John._

Every time John closed his eyes, he saw Sherlock. He saw him sitting in the cafe across from John with his eyes bright. He saw him laughing. He saw him crouched in front of John on the sidewalk. And he saw Sherlock's face when John pulled away from him. He saw the pain in Sherlock's eyes. The confusion.

John pushed off the counter. He went to his bedroom, shed his clothes and got into his bed in just his briefs. _I'm too exhausted for this._ He put his pillow over his head and went to sleep.

2:30pm

John stirred. His head was hot and sweaty under his pillow. He groaned and knocked the pillow to the floor. The air felt cold on his damp hair. _Sherlock._ John groaned again and rolled over. _Oh, God, I'm never going to get past this unless I apologize._

He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. He closed his eyes as he shampooed his hair. He saw Sherlock's face. Pain in his eyes. John shook his head and tried to think of something else. _Anything_ else. He rinsed his hair. As John washed the rest of his body, he saw Sherlock's smile. His dark, curly hair. His gorgeous eyes. The way his shirt strained over his chest, the buttons barely holding. A surge of heat rushed through John's entire body. He turned the water to cold.

After he'd dressed, John paced through his apartment. _I have to at least apologize._ He grabbed his keys.

As he approached Municipal Auditorium, John was filled with doubt. _You don't even know the Philharmonic's schedule. He's probably not even here._

John's footsteps echoed against the marble. The Art Deco murals towered over him. He decided he'd enter the music hall at the back of the first balcony. He'd have a better chance of avoiding being seen there. He climbed the stairway and peeked through the door.

His heart jumped into his throat. The Philharmonic was on the stage. John stumbled into a seat in the back row. The orchestra wasn't playing at the moment. The conductor was giving instructions to some of the players. John's eyes searched through the violinists. _Sherlock._

He was in the very first chair, right next to the conductor. _Oh my God._ Sherlock was twisted around in his chair, talking to the other violinists. He was gesturing with his bow. He then turned forward and spoke to the conductor. The conductor said something back. Sherlock nodded.

The conductor turned to the whole orchestra, flipping the pages of a large book. "Okay, we're going to run the first movement," he said. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a gruff voice. "At the top, please."

There was a rustling of pages. The conductor raised his arms and everyone shifted in their seats, raising their instruments. They began.

It was louder than John thought it would be. More aggressive. Then the brass players and the string players put their instruments down, leaving just instruments like clarinets and flutes playing.

John watched Sherlock. He hadn't put his violin down, even though all the other violinists had. John was wondering why when the conductor turned to Sherlock and gestured right at him.

Sherlock lifted his bow and drew a single high note. John's heart stopped. He hadn't known it was possible to put so much beauty and emotion into a single note. Sherlock continued, weaving a melody and returning to that single note again. And again. The rest of the orchestra was quiet, with only a harp player supporting Sherlock's melody. John was frozen in place, completely transfixed.

Sherlock came back to that single note a final time, and the rest of the orchestra began to play again. All of the violinists were playing with Sherlock now, and the cellists were playing something that reminded John of a ship on the ocean.

John's heart was pounding. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He leaned forward onto the back of the seat in front of him. _He's even more remarkable than I knew. And he wanted to kiss me. And I ran away._

John was spellbound as he listened to the orchestra play. Twice more, Sherlock played solos, this time sounding almost... playful. John's heart pounded wildly both times. A pretty, dark-haired young woman played some lovely cello solos as well.

When they'd finished, the conductor flipped through the pages of his music and instructed various members of the orchestra. He had them play a few sections of the music again, telling them what he wanted. He looked at his watch, then said, "That's it for today. I'll see you all tomorrow."

All of the players stood up and started gathering their music and belongings. John jumped out of his seat. He had to find a way to catch Sherlock. He ducked back through the door and weaved his way through the building until he heard voices. Two people carrying instrument cases came out a small side door. John caught the door and went through. He saw more people with cases. He knew he was close now. He went down the hall in the direction the people were coming from. _Come on, where is he?_

"Doctor Watson."

John spun around when he heard the familiar baritone voice behind him. He tried to read Sherlock's expression. He saw... trepidation. " _Sherlock._ "

"Walk with me, Doctor." Sherlock turned and walked away. John followed.

Sherlock led John down a stairwell and into the underground parking. They were alone. Sherlock walked over to a black Mustang, opened the door, and put his violin behind the driver's seat. He shut the door and leaned against the car. He crossed his arms, raised his eyebrows, and looked pointedly at John.

John shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I came to apologize to you for running away."

Sherlock was still looking at John, but his expression was blank.

"I'm really sorry, Sherlock. I haven't... done this before, and I... panicked. I'm sorry."

Sherlock was still silent.

"I... I heard you playing. I snuck into the balcony. That was the most incredible thing I've ever heard."

Sherlock looked down at his own feet.

"You didn't tell me you were the... first violin?"

"Concertmaster." Sherlock was still looking at his feet.

"Concertmaster. Your playing was so... expressive. It was beautiful." John tilted his head, trying to see Sherlock's face.

Sherlock lifted his head, pushed off of the car, and stood up straight. His expression was hard. "Why are you here, John?"

"I wanted you to know how sorry I am for running off."

"You've already told me. Why are you _still_ here?"

John fidgeted nervously. "I... I can't stop thinking about you. Monday was... well, I haven't connected with anyone like that since... well, ever."

Sherlock glared at him. "What do you want from me?"

"Another chance. Please."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"If you'll let me, I'd like to come to one of your concerts."

"How do I know you won't do the same thing again?"

John looked at the concrete floor. "You don't." John took a deep breath and let it out. "You're right. You've got no reason to trust me again. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly." He turned around and walked toward the stairwell.

"John."

John stopped and looked back.

Sherlock's expression had softened slightly. "I'll leave a ticket for you at will call. Saturday night?"

John smiled in relief. "Yes. Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock got into his car.

John stood by the stairwell and watched him drive away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to a performance of Scheherazade here:
> 
> https://youtu.be/17lEx0ytE_0
> 
> Sherlock's first solo takes place within the first two minutes of this video. 
> 
> Setting note: Municipal Auditorium, opened in 1935, is an Art Deco / Streamline Moderne masterpiece. It contains a large sports arena, a music hall which was home to the Kansas City Philharmonic, an exhibition hall, and a ballroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday, August 6th, 1977

7:45pm

John tugged at the cuffs of his shirt as he approached the will call window. He'd changed his clothes three times before leaving his apartment, eventually deciding on the shirt that he'd bought on Monday with his sport coat. He hoped that he'd finally found the balance between "nice enough to go to the Philharmonic" and "not trying _too_ hard."

The battle he'd fought with himself over what to wear had been a nice change of pace from the one he'd had with himself over pursuing Sherlock. After two days, John was firmly holding his doubt and fear at bay. _Sherlock Holmes is the most incredible man I've ever met. And he wanted me. I have to see him again._

John opened the envelope holding his ticket. Row H. Nearly in the center. _Oh my God. This is so close, he's going to be able to see me._ John took a steadying breath, entered the music hall, and took his seat.

Most of the musicians were already on the stage, making their final preparations for the concert. John looked around, but he didn't see Sherlock.

He opened his program:

Festive Overture, Op. 96  
Dmitri Shostakovich

Scheherazade, Op. 35  
1\. The Sea and Sinbad's Ship  
2\. The Story of the Kalendar Prince  
3\. The Young Prince and the Young Princess  
4\. Festival at Baghdad. The Sea. The Ship Breaks Against a Cliff Surmounted by a Bronze Horseman  
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov

-Intermission-

Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Op. 98  
1\. Allegro Non Troppo  
2\. Andante Moderato  
3\. Allegro Giocoso  
4\. Allegro Energico e Passionato  
Johannes Brahms

He turned to the page that listed the musicians' names. Sherlock's was right at the top: Sherlock Holmes, Concertmaster. John felt a little rush of pride. He looked for the conductor's name. It was the only one listed ahead of Sherlock's: Gregory Lestrade, Music Director.

The remaining empty seats around John filled up over the next few minutes. It looked like all of the musicians were on stage now, except for Sherlock and Lestrade. The lights dimmed.

John's heart leaped when Sherlock stepped onto the stage. He was dressed like the other musicians, in white tie with a black tailcoat. He'd combed his hair back, taming his curls slightly. He looked _gorgeous_. John suddenly noticed that the audience was applauding for Sherlock and joined in belatedly.

As Sherlock approached the center of the stage, his eyes were searching the audience. When he found John, he smiled a little before bowing. He turned his back. John realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out slowly.

The audience quieted while the orchestra tuned. When they were finished, Sherlock took his seat. Lestrade walked onto the stage. The audience applauded and the entire orchestra stood. Lestrade bowed and stepped onto his podium.

The orchestra sat back down and began playing. It was loud. And fast. With cymbal crashes and everything. John watched Sherlock for a couple of minutes before peeking at his program. "Festive Overture."

John watched Sherlock again. He began to notice the other violin players - in fact, all of the string players at times - looking to him as well as to the conductor. Then he began to notice the signals Sherlock was giving the others as he was playing. He was communicating with them by gesturing with his head, his violin, his bow, his shoulders, and even his facial expressions. John was struck again by just how remarkable Sherlock was.

The overture ended with a big flourish, and the audience applauded. The conductor had the orchestra stand to acknowledge the audience, and Sherlock locked eyes with John. He smiled a little, and John grinned back at him. Lestrade bowed and walked off the stage. The orchestra sat down.

The house lights came up a little, and some late audience members filtered in. When the house went dark again, Lestrade stepped back onto the stage. The audience applauded briefly, and he bowed before stepping back onto his podium. John's heart was already beating faster in anticipation of Sherlock's solos in Scheherazade.

The orchestra began playing as it had in rehearsal, although everything seemed to be heightened by the presence of the audience. John's heart pounded in his chest during each of Sherlock's solos. The orchestra finished the same way it had during rehearsal, and John lifted his hands to applaud before he noticed the people around him hadn't moved. He felt his cheeks flush pink as he lowered his hands.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock and extended his hand. Sherlock began to play again. It was like his earlier solo at first, but it became more aggressive, more passionate. John's breath caught. When the rest of the orchestra took over, John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He peeked at his program again. Scheherazade was divided into four sections. This must be the second, "The Story of the Kalendar Prince."

John watched and listened carefully as the orchestra played the rest of Scheherazade. Sherlock had solos throughout, and he was beautifully expressive each time. John was captivated.

When the last note of Sherlock's last solo faded, the music hall was completely silent for a moment before Lestrade lowered his arms. Then the audience began applauding enthusiastically. Lestrade stepped off his podium, turned to face the audience, and bowed. He faced the orchestra again and began signaling wind players who had performed solos to stand individually. The audience and the rest of the orchestra applauded for each one. Lestrade turned to the young dark-haired cellist and she stood, smiling shyly. Then Lestrade turned to Sherlock, shook his hand, and pulled him up out of his chair. The audience started getting to their feet. John jumped up. Sherlock smiled broadly. One of his curls had freed itself to fall over his forehead. He was stunning. The audience continued applauding while the rest of the orchestra stood.

Lestrade left the stage, and the house lights came up. Sherlock looked at John again before leaving the stage. John went out to the lobby to stretch his legs, but was back in his seat when Sherlock returned.

Sherlock paged through his music, preparing for the Brahms symphony while John watched. When the house lights went down, Sherlock stood and tuned the orchestra. Lestrade came back out, and they began.

The music was lovely. John listened as it ebbed and flowed. He tried to pay attention to the music, but over the next forty minutes he was mostly gazing at Sherlock and daydreaming.

When the music was finished, Sherlock locked eyes with John again during the applause. After Sherlock left the stage, John made his way through the crowd to the side door he'd found on Thursday. He felt out of place backstage among the musicians in their formal black and white. _God, I must stick out like a sore thumb back here._

John breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Sherlock talking to the pretty dark-haired cellist. As John approached them, he could hear Sherlock saying, "Thank you, Molly. Your solos were superb as well. Very lovely." Molly began blushing furiously. She was attempting to stammer out a response when Sherlock caught sight of John.

"John."

"Sherlock, that was incredible." John turned to Molly. "You played beautifully, too. I'm John," he said, holding out his hand.

Molly shook John's hand. "Thank you. I'm Molly."

"Nice to meet you, Molly." John turned back to Sherlock. "This is probably one of those cliché questions you always get, but I can't help myself. Don't your arms get tired?"

Sherlock grinned. "Yes, that is one of those cliché questions."

"But do they? Get tired?"

"Well, yes," Sherlock said, still grinning. "But not as much as you might get think."

John looked to Molly, but she was gone. She'd slipped away while John was looking at Sherlock.

John leaned in toward Sherlock, keeping his voice low. "Can I take you out for a drink, Sherlock?"

"All right, John."

John drove Sherlock to a cocktail bar. He felt self-conscious about his car, a green Chevy Vega, after having seen Sherlock's Mustang. But the main thing on his mind was how grateful he was that Sherlock seemed to have cautiously forgiven him.

They sat in a small booth. Sherlock propped his violin against the wall next to him. A cheerful waitress came to take their order. She beamed at Sherlock. "Is that a violin?"

"Yes..."

"And look at you, all dressed up! Do you play for the Philharmonic?"

"Yes..."

"Oh, that's wonderful! I bet you're very talented!"

Sherlock had a pained expression on his face. John giggled and bailed him out of the conversation. "He is, Miss. He definitely is."

After the waitress walked away, John giggled again. "I'd like to formally apologize to you for saying the same thing to you when we met."

Sherlock just shook his head.

The waitress was back in just a moment with John's old fashioned and Sherlock's scotch.

As they talked quietly over their drinks, Sherlock reached up and tugged at his white bow tie, untying it. He let it hang loose around his neck and reached up again to unbutton two of his shirt buttons. John felt a rush of heat through his whole body when Sherlock's long, graceful fingers pulled his shirt open at his neck, revealing part of his collarbone. John took a sip of his drink, swallowing hard.

John was in the middle of telling Sherlock a story about medical school when their waitress slipped in a spilled drink. As she fell, the back of her head smacked into a table. She dropped to the floor, her tray of drinks crashing down behind her.

The other cocktail waitress screamed. The bartender leaped out from behind the bar and was next to the injured waitress almost as quickly as John was. Blood was pooling at the back of the young woman's head, and she was unconscious. John grabbed the bartender's arm. "I'm a doctor. Get me a clean towel!" he ordered. The bartender stared at him. "Now!" John shouted. The man ran back to the bar. The other waitress was standing over them now, her hands over her mouth. John pointed at her. "You! Go call an ambulance!" She ran to the back of the bar.

The bartender was back. He held out a bar towel. His hands were shaking. John took the towel and pressed it against the young woman's head to slow her bleeding. "What's her name?" John asked.

"S-Susie," the bartender said.

"She's going to be okay. Go make sure the other waitress called an ambulance."

The bartender ran after the other waitress.

John held the towel tightly to Susie's head. She was starting to come around. Her eyelids fluttered, and she began to move her arms. "Susie. Susie, it's okay. I need you to hold still for me. My name's John. I'm a doctor. Can you hold still for me?"

Susie whimpered.

"Open your eyes, Susie. You're going to be fine. Hold still for me, okay?"

Susie was looking up at him now. She started crying.

John pushed her hair back from her forehead. "It's okay, Susie. You're going to be fine"

The bartender was back. "She called the ambulance," he said to John. "She's going out front now to flag it down." He kneeled down at Susie's other side and took her hand.

John turned, looking back to check on Sherlock. He was standing next to their booth and looking at John with wide eyes. When John made eye contact with him, Sherlock's chest rose as he drew in a sharp breath. John refocused on Susie.

The ambulance arrived quickly. John looked up as two paramedics came through the door. As they approached, they recognized him.

"Doctor Watson!" Bill said. "What happened here?"

John gave Bill and David a report on Susie's condition and stayed with her as they loaded her into the ambulance. He looked down at Susie. "You're going to be just fine, Susie. This is Bill and David. They're going to take you to the hospital now." He squeezed her hand and stroked her hair one more time before climbing back out of the ambulance.

The bartender, the other waitress, several patrons, and Sherlock were standing in front of the bar, watching. John approached the bartender and waitress. "She's going to be fine," he told them. "A couple of stitches and she'll be good as new." The ambulance drove away.

"Thank you!" the waitress said, throwing her arms around John. "I'm so glad you were here!"

The bartender thanked John and shook his hand. He told him that his and Sherlock's drinks were on the house tonight and went back inside with the waitress. The other patrons followed, and soon John and Sherlock were alone on the sidewalk.

Sherlock was standing near the door, clutching his violin case to his chest. John walked over to him. "Are you okay, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John. It's just, well.. that was amazing."

"The blood made it look worse than it was. She's going to be fine."

Sherlock shook his head. "Not that. You. _You_ were amazing."

"It was no big deal. Just part of my job."

Sherlock shook his head again. "No, you were incredible. You had everything under control before I could even process what was happening. And the way you kept everyone calm... You're truly extraordinary, John."

John's cheeks flushed hot. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you back to the Music Hall to get your car. I think that was enough excitement for one night." He smiled at Sherlock.

John parked his car next to Sherlock's in the underground parking across from Municipal Auditorium. He got out and watched Sherlock put his violin in his car. "Thank you for letting me come to your concert tonight."

Sherlock smiled shyly. "Thank you for coming. And for the drink."

John moved closer to Sherlock. "I'd like to see you again. Do you have a day off soon?"

John saw Sherlock swallow hard. "Monday."

"I was planning to go record shopping on Monday. Will you come with me?"

"I'll meet you there. Where will you be?"

"Angelo's. It's in Westport. Do you know it?"

Sherlock smiled widely. "I know it."

"Four o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

John leaned closer to Sherlock. "Good." He put one of his hands up to take hold of Sherlock's black silk lapel. He heard Sherlock's breath hitch. "Thank you for giving me a second chance," he said quietly.

Sherlock was silent.

John put his other hand up and toyed briefly with Sherlock's loose bow tie before taking hold of Sherlock's other lapel. He pulled slightly at Sherlock's jacket as he rose up onto his toes and pressed his mouth against Sherlock's.

Sherlock's mouth was soft and sweet. John dropped back down off his toes, breaking contact. Sherlock immediately bent down and kissed John tenderly. He put his hand on the back of John's neck and threaded his fingers through John's hair. John's heart was racing. He opened his mouth slightly to pull Sherlock's lower lip between his. Sherlock let out a breathy little whimper before pulling away.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes for a moment. He took his hand off of John's neck and stepped back. John reluctantly let go of Sherlock's lapels. Sherlock's eyes were still locked on John's. "Until Monday, John."

John nodded. Sherlock got into his car. John clumsily found his way back into his own car and watched Sherlock drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shostakovich, Festive Overture:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1gDZTah8J2A
> 
> Rimsky-Korsakov, Scheherazade (The second movement begins at 10:20):
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=17lEx0ytE_0
> 
> Brahms, Fourth Symphony:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fxsJ9qSsBpw


	4. Chapter 4

Monday, August 8th, 1977

3:50pm

The bell on the door at Angelo's jangled as John walked in. He looked around. No Sherlock. John was a little relieved, actually. He could use a few minutes to settle his nerves. He started poking through the record crates, seeing a few discs that caught his interest.

After several minutes had passed, John was feeling calmer. Then he looked up and saw a black mustang drive past the front window. _Sherlock_. He took a deep breath and tried to look casual.

When Sherlock came through the door, John's breath caught. He looked gorgeous, as usual. He had on an indigo button-front shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The buttons over his chest were straining. _Oh, God, are_ all _his shirts that tight?_

When he caught sight of John, Sherlock smiled brightly and walked over to him. "Hello, John."

"Hello, Sherlock. It's nice to see you."

Sherlock peered into the record crate John was standing next to. "Find anything interesting yet?"

John grinned. He picked up Alice Cooper's new album, "Lace and Whiskey." He held it out to Sherlock, fully expecting the same disgusted expression that the iced tea had inspired a week ago. "I was thinking about getting this one. What do you think?"

Sherlock took the disc from John and looked at it. He flipped it over to look at the back. "This one really isn't his best work. Do you have 'Killer _'_ already? It's a much better album."

John's mouth dropped open. He quickly tried to recover. "You... you listen to Alice Cooper?"

"Of course. Are you all right, John?"

"Yeah... y-yeah," he stammered. "I just thought..."

"You thought what, John?"

"Well, I don't know what I thought."

Sherlock leaned closer to John. "You thought a man who has dedicated his life to music would only like records from one section of this store."

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

Sherlock laughed. Before John could respond, a voice called out behind him. "Sherlock!"

John turned to see a man approaching them. Sherlock stepped toward him. "Hello, Angelo," he said as he shook the man's hand. "Angelo, this is John. John, this is Angelo, the store's owner."

Angelo shook John's hand vigorously. "Nice to meet you, John." He turned to Sherlock. "I've got something in the back for you, Sherlock. Come on over. I'll get it."

John followed Sherlock to the counter while Angelo disappeared into the back. Angelo reappeared quickly with a very old disc. He held it out to Sherlock. Sherlock took hold of it carefully. He gasped quietly. " _Ma Rainey_ ," he whispered.

Angelo beamed at him. "You interested?"

"Of _course_ I am. Where did you get this, Angelo?"

Angelo laughed. "You know I don't give away my secrets, Sherlock."

Sherlock was examining the disc carefully. He looked up and gently handed the disc back to Angelo.

"I'll hold it back here for you while you finish looking around," Angelo said. "You and your date." He grinned at John.

John startled and looked around nervously to see if anyone else had heard that. Sherlock thanked Angelo and walked back across the store. Angelo winked at John and disappeared into the back. After taking a shaky breath, John followed Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't look up from the record crate when John walked up next to him. "All right, John?"

John fidgeted with his hands. "Is he always so... forward?"

"Yes. Are you going to be this upset every time someone is aware of the fact that this is a date?"

"I'm not upset. It's just... I have to be careful."

"Why?"

"Don't play dumb, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up from the record crate, turning to face John. "I want to hear you say it. Why do you have to be careful?"

John sighed. "Fine. I have to be careful because I could lose my job, okay? And because my family would disown me." John broke eye contact, staring into a crate. "I've said it. Are you happy?"

"No."

"Me neither, Sherlock. But that's how it is." He gripped the crate tightly. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock turned away and started looking through the crates again. He held a disc out to John. "Do you have this one?" he asked quietly.

John took the record and looked at it. _The Runaways_. "No, I don't."

"I think you'd like it."

John nodded.

He and Sherlock spent more than an hour searching through the crates together. They each purchased several records from a beaming Angelo and walked out onto the sidewalk.

"It's really nice out today," John said. "I thought I might walk around for a while."

Sherlock grinned at him. "That sounds nice. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

John gazed up at Sherlock. His dark curls were shining in the sunlight and his indigo shirt was playing up the blue in his eyes. "Which way shall we go, John?" he asked.

John shrugged. "Why don't we start down the sidewalk and just see where we end up?"

Sherlock nodded, smiling shyly. They walked together for a long while, eventually circling back near Angelo's. As the hour grew later, John suggested stopping for dinner at a small Chinese restaurant just around the corner.

After dinner, John walked with Sherlock back to his car. Sherlock stopped and pulled a record out of his bag. "This one is for you," he said, handing it to John. "I think you'll like it if you give it a chance."

John looked down at the disc. _Edward Elgar,_ 'Enigma Variations, Op. 36.'

"The ninth variation is a particular favourite of mine."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sure I'll like it." He looked up at him. "You know, I haven't had a chance to hear Ma Rainey before. I'd like to listen to that one sometime."

Sherlock stood up straight, rising to his full height. "Doctor Watson, was that a blatant attempt to get into my flat?"

John backpedaled quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"Don't apologize, John." Sherlock interrupted. He grinned. "It worked. You remember where my building is?"

John grinned back. "Yes, of course I do."

"Number 12B. I'll meet you there in a few minutes." Sherlock got into his car and drove off, leaving John standing on the sidewalk with a goofy grin on his face. John walked quickly to his own car and followed Sherlock.

John took the elevator to the twelfth floor - the top floor of the building. When he stepped out into the hallway, he realized that there were only two apartments on the twelfth floor. _Good God_ , John thought. _He must be loaded_.

John took a deep breath and walked up to Sherlock's door. He knocked quietly. Sherlock opened the door immediately. "Come in, John. I was just getting a scotch. Would you like one?"

"Yes, thank you." John stopped in his tracks when he passed through the entryway into the living room. Sherlock's living room had floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall, revealing a commanding view of the Plaza below. Bookshelves lined the walls on both sides. One side was filled with records, and the other with books. His violin case was laid across a chair near the window, and he had a music stand with several pieces of music on it set up next to the chair.

Sherlock was beside John now, holding out a glass of scotch. "You like it?"

"This is incredible." John took the glass and crossed to the window. Sherlock followed. "I can understand why you don't want to move out. You can see for miles from here. I can see my apartment building." He pointed to the east, across Brush Creek.

"Which one is it?" Sherlock asked. When John finished describing his building, Sherlock turned toward him. "Liar."

Startled, John turned to face him. "Um, no, that's really my building..."

"And _this_ building is _not_ located between the cafe we were in last week and your building."

John's face flushed hot. "I..."

Sherlock smiled warmly at him. "It's fine. I would have done the same. I would have followed you _anywhere_ and told you it was on my way."

John looked up at him, speechless.

"Why don't you sit down, John," Sherlock said quietly. "I'll put the record on." He walked over to an impressive stereo system built into the shelving on the walls.

John walked slowly toward the couch, looking at the records as he went. Sherlock's collection was varied and extensive. He saw classical recordings, Motown, and Broadway as he passed the shelves. _Brian Eno, Blondie, Parliament, Wings, Lou Reed, Derek and the Dominos, The Kinks._ He looked across the room at the books. He was too far away to see most of the titles, but a few were visible. They were just as varied as the records. John could see music textbooks, art history textbooks, Shakespeare, and Homer alongside titles like "The Exorcist" and "The Naked Ape." He squinted at a collection of science textbooks. Was that... apiology?

John sat down on the couch just as the music began. He took a sip of his scotch. It was the most delicious scotch he'd ever tasted. _I don't even want to know how much this stuff costs_. Sherlock adjusted the volume and then sat down next to John. He took a drink and set his glass down. John set his glass next to Sherlock's. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to Ma Rainey sing about jail and misery and alcoholism. He felt Sherlock lean back next to him.

When the song ended, John opened his eyes. Sherlock was looking at him. John spoke first. "That was remarkable. Thank you for letting me listen to it."

Sherlock smiled at him warmly. "I'll play the B-side." He moved to get up. John grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him back down, and kissed him. Sherlock was still for a moment. John let go of Sherlock's shirt and wrapped his arms around him, keeping him close, still kissing him.

Sherlock began to respond. He put one hand on the back of John's head, stroking his fingers through John's hair. His other hand fell lightly against John's waist. He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to allow John's tongue in. He tasted like scotch and heat and _Sherlock_.

John sighed against Sherlock's mouth. He gently pushed Sherlock against the back of the couch and leaned over him. He slid one hand up into Sherlock's hair. It was even softer than it looked.

He kissed Sherlock for several minutes, until they were both breathless. John pulled back, putting one hand up to Sherlock's face and stroking his thumb across Sherlock's cheek. They looked into each other's eyes. John reclaimed Sherlock's mouth and pressed his chest against Sherlock's. He could _feel_ Sherlock gasp at the contact. His arousal surged, and he pressed in harder. Sherlock's grip tightened in John's hair.

John broke away from Sherlock's mouth, smearing kisses across his jawline and down his neck. Sherlock gasped again, and John growled in response. He nipped Sherlock's neck. Sherlock shuddered, crying out. " _John!_ "

John had decided to put Sherlock's straining shirt buttons out of their misery. He popped the top button open and dragged his mouth over the newly exposed skin at Sherlock's collarbone.

"John, wait!" Sherlock pushed at John's shoulders. John sat back, panting. He moaned quietly.

Sherlock pulled himself up straighter on the couch. He closed the button John had pulled open. John sat back farther, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, struggling with the urge to shove Sherlock down onto the couch and finish what they had started.

Sherlock's hand landed on John's shoulder. "John, I'm sorry."

"No -" John opened his eyes. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I didn't mean to push you into anything you don't want."

"It's not that I don't want it, John. Believe me. I want it."

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. They were dark with desire. John stifled a moan.

Sherlock continued, "It's self-preservation. I'm... having feelings for you. Very strong feelings, in fact. Stronger than I've ever had for anyone."

John's heart felt tight.

"I had to stop because... I can't have this be casual with you. I need you to be sure. A one night stand - with you - would break me."

John put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. " _Sherlock_. I'm not looking for a one night stand. I'm having feelings for you, too."

"You don't have to say that just because I did."

"I'm not. It's the truth." John leaned back into the couch. "Come here."

Sherlock hesitated.

"Will you let me hold you? _Just_ hold you?"

Sherlock moved forward and curled up against John, dipping his head down to rest it on John's chest. He tucked his arm around John's waist. John wrapped one arm over Sherlock's shoulders and stroked the opposite hand through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock melted against him.

John spoke quietly. "I've never met anyone as fascinating as you are, Sherlock. You're brilliant, funny, kind, and absolutely gorgeous. I think about you constantly."

" _John_." Sherlock's arm tightened around John's waist. "I feel the same way about you. You're incredible. And you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

" _My_ eyes? Sherlock, have you ever looked in a mirror?"

"Have _you?_ You're stunning, John."

John had no idea how to respond to that. So he said nothing and continued stroking Sherlock's hair. He was beginning to suspect that Sherlock had been hurt badly in the past.

After several minutes of silence, John asked quietly, "Have you ever been in love, Sherlock?"

Sherlock tensed up against him.

"You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "While I was studying at the Royal Academy of Music. His name was Victor. We were friends. Well. He was my only friend. I don't make friends easily; I never have. And I fell for him. Hard."

John stayed quiet, allowing Sherlock to open up slowly.

"He... took advantage of the way I felt about him. I thought he loved me, but he continued dating women. He was looking for a wife." Sherlock was quiet for a moment before continuing. "It was killing me. So I asked him to stop. He refused. He fully intended to marry a woman and keep men - like me - on the side."

Searing anger surged through John. He breathed deliberately slowly and stayed silent to allow Sherlock to go on.

"He didn't love me. He said what we had wasn't a relationship - it was 'just a bit of fun.'"

John knew Sherlock could feel the tension in his body as he tried to control the rage coursing through him. _That son of a bitch. How_ dare _he use you like that. If I ever find that asshole, I'll kill him._

"I've never allowed myself to fall in love again. Since Victor, I've only had... casual encounters." He paused. "But I can't do that with you. I can't seem to keep my heart closed to you."

John tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair. His voice was soft. "I don't want your heart to be closed. Mine certainly isn't."

John felt Sherlock's grip on John's shirt tighten. "But don't you want a wife? A family?"

"I thought I did. Before I met _you_."

"You said you've never done this before. What does that mean?"

John closed his eyes. "I've never dated a man."

"Only women."

"Yes."

"Have you ever... slept with a man?"

John opened his eyes. He took a deep breath. "I almost did. Once. We... got interrupted."

Sherlock was silent, waiting for John to continue.

"I've never told anyone that before." John closed his eyes for a moment. _Tell him, John. Keep going_. He opened his eyes. "It happened while I was in country. With my commanding officer, Major Sholto. There was something between us from the moment we met, but neither of us had ever acknowledged it. One night I went to Sholto's tent to deliver a message. Before I knew what was happening, we were on his bunk. With our tongues in each other's mouths. And... our hands in each other's pants." John looked up at the ceiling. "That's when the mortar fire began. We jumped up and straightened our clothes. The field hospital was hit hard. I was trying to save a dying colleague when I was hit." Sherlock squeezed John tighter. "I woke up in a different hospital. I never saw Major Sholto again."

John looked down, watching his own fingers tangling in Sherlock's hair. Both of them were quiet for a long time. Sherlock was getting heavier and heavier against John's chest as he relaxed. _It feels like he's going to go to sleep_. John smiled to himself, pleased that Sherlock could feel that relaxed with him. He tilted his head down, trying to see Sherlock's face. Sherlock stirred and sat up.

John put his hand to Sherlock's cheek. "I should let you get some sleep. We both have work tomorrow, don't we?"

Sherlock nodded slightly.

"When can I see you again?"

Sherlock tensed up. "John, I need to ask something of you."

"Anything."

Sherlock broke into a smile at that, but quickly sobered. "This is going to sound strange. Please hear me out. I don't want you to misinterpret what I'm going to ask."

"Now I'm a little worried, but go on."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Don't call me or visit me for a fortnight."

John was taken aback. "Okay, I didn't expect that. A fortnight - that's two weeks, right?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I need you to be sure before this goes any further. You've said yourself that you haven't dated a man before, that you wanted a wife and family."

"That's all changed." John stroked Sherlock's cheek with his thumb.

"I hope so. But I need to make sure you're not just... swept up in the heat of the moment. I want you to be able to think it through clearly."

"All right, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at him doubtfully. "You're okay with this?"

John nodded. "I understand why you're worried. Especially after the stunt I pulled last week. If waiting two weeks will help you, then I'll do it. I'd do just about anything you asked of me, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave him a relieved smile. "Thank you, John." He leaned in and kissed John lightly. Then he stood up. John stood up as well, following Sherlock to the door.

When John reached the door, he turned to face Sherlock and put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, guiding him down into another kiss. He kept the kiss sweet and tender, although he couldn't resist pulling that lower lip between his one more time.

Sherlock pulled back. John smiled up at him. "If I'm going to call you in two weeks, I'll need your number."

Sherlock grinned sheepishly and went to a pad of paper next to his telephone. John followed him. After Sherlock handed him the slip of paper, John took the pencil out of Sherlock's hand and wrote his own number on the pad. He folded Sherlock's number carefully and put it in his pocket.

They walked back to the door. As Sherlock reached for the doorknob, John said, "One more," and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

Sherlock opened the door. John looked into his eyes and promised, "I will call you in exactly two weeks. I won't change my mind."

"I hope you're right, John."

"Don't worry, Sherlock, I always am."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course." He smiled affectionately. "Good night, John."

"Good night." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma Rainey, Booze and Blues:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fs1Omb47ins
> 
> Elgar, Enigma Variations (Ninth Variation 12:20-15:50):
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Mhk9tRpviAo


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday, August 20th, 1977

2:45am

The heat was oppressive. John could feel sweat trickling down his back and catching in the waistband of his fatigues. He was there to deliver a message to Sholto, but he'd be damned if he could remember what it was when Sholto's eyes burned into his.

John didn't know which one of them moved first. It didn't matter. They crashed together, grabbing at each other desperately. Sholto pushed his demanding tongue into John's mouth immediately. John responded by shoving Sholto backward until the backs of his knees hit the side of his bunk. He threw Sholto down, and was dragged down with him when Sholto kept a tight hold on John's shirt.

John groaned against Sholto's mouth as he dropped on top of him. They pulled at each other's clothes. John plunged his hand into Sholto's pants, grabbing him and finding him already hard as hell. Sholto gasped in pleasure and took hold of John's equally hard cock in return.

John kissed him deeply as they began to stroke each other. He put his free hand on the back of Sholto's head, his fingers brushing past Sholto's short, bristly hair.

And then John's fingers were tangling in silky curls. He pulled back and opened his eyes. Sherlock looked up at him, eyes blazing with desire. He arched his back and shoved his hips upward as John stroked him. He threw his head back in ecstasy, exposing his neck. John immediately dropped down to lick Sherlock's neck, tightening his grip on Sherlock's hair to keep his head back. Sherlock gasped. "Oh! _John!_ " John knew Sherlock was close. He stroked faster. Sherlock made a keening sound.

In an instant, everything became noise and smoke and blood. The ground shook. Hot metal tore through John's shoulder. Then he couldn't hear anymore. He instinctively grabbed at his ear with his right hand, but his left arm was dangling uselessly at his side. Blood was pouring out of his shoulder. _Sherlock. Where is Sherlock?_

John screamed, "Sherlock!" His voice was faint and tinny in his damaged ears. His lungs were full of smoke. He coughed and retched. "Sherlock!" The smoke was burning his eyes. He couldn't see anything but smoke and blood, shredded fabric and twisted metal. He got up and started running, stumbling over debris and bodies. He looked at each ruined face, none of them Sherlock's. He screamed again, " _Sherlock!_ "

The sharp sound of his own scream jolted John awake. Sherlock's name echoed against the walls of John's bedroom. John bolted upright, grabbing at his left shoulder. His legs were tangled in the twisted sheets. He wrenched himself free and stood panting and shaking next to his bed. He quickly pulled a pair of jogging shorts on over his briefs. He didn't bother with shoes.

John took a deep breath as he burst out of the stairwell and onto the roof of his building. He was still trembling. The night air was cool against his sweat-drenched body.

John wiped at the sweat and tears on his face as he approached the edge of the roof. He looked out across the plaza. It was almost completely dark. The only light came from the streetlights and the occasional window. John's eyes were drawn up to Sherlock's windows. His light was on. John let out a tight, breathless chuckle. _What is he doing awake at this hour?_

John's heart was still racing. He closed his eyes and focused on the way the breeze felt on his body. He put his right hand up and squeezed his left shoulder. After a moment, he opened his eyes and dropped his arm back to his side. He watched a single car moving slowly through the quiet streets.

John stood on the roof for a long time. His t-shirt began to dry, stiff with sweat. His breathing slowly returned to normal.

 _I'm so tired. I'm so tired of being afraid. I've had enough._ He looked up at Sherlock's window. _I'm not going to let my fear keep me from the most remarkable person I've ever met._ He smiled to himself. _I want Sherlock Holmes. And I'm going to make him mine. Because I'm already his._

John turned and went back down the stairs to the ground floor. After he'd locked his apartment door behind him, he stripped off his sweaty clothes and showered quickly. He got back into bed and drifted back to sleep.

6:15am

John was awake before dawn. He sat up in bed and grinned. _I'm going to call Sherlock Holmes today._ He got up and put on an old t-shirt, jogging shorts, and tennis shoes. He stretched a little.

The morning was clear and pleasant. John jogged along Brush Creek before heading down Wornall and into Loose Park. On impulse, he decided he'd do a lap around the circular rose garden. As soon as he entered the garden, John stopped in his tracks. A huge smile broke over his face.

Sherlock Holmes was seated on a bench, facing away from John. He was looking intently into one of the trellises. John began jogging again, going the long way around to give Sherlock a chance to see him approach. He looked at Sherlock as he circled around the path. Sherlock was as impeccably dressed as always, even in the park. He had rolled the sleeves of his wine-colored shirt up to his elbows. He looked amazing. John felt self-conscious about his sweaty old t-shirt, but there was nothing to be done about it. He didn't want to miss the chance to talk to Sherlock.

Sherlock hadn't noticed John. He was alternating between peering into the trellis and writing in a notebook. John slowed as he approached Sherlock's bench. He stopped a couple of feet away and put his hands on his hips. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Sherlock startled, finally looking up at him. "John!" he said, immediately blushing. "What are you doing here?"

John grinned. He gestured at his own body, sweating and dressed for jogging. "What does it look like?"

Sherlock blushed even harder as his eyes wandered over John's body. "R-running," he stammered. "It looks like you were running."

"You got it. What are you writing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down at his notebook. "I... I was taking notes." He looked back up at John. "Sometimes I come here to... observe the bees," he added shyly.

Sherlock's eyes were moving over John's body again. John knew his jogging shorts didn't leave much to the imagination. And he knew he was... generously proportioned. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a minute, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped back up to John's face. Sherlock blushed anew as he realized that John had caught him looking. He was almost the same color as his shirt now. "No! Not at all. Please do."

John stepped past him to the other end of the bench and sat down. "So, what are the bees doing this morning?"

A lovely and slightly surprised smile passed over Sherlock's face. "You really want to know?"

John smiled back. "Of course."

Sherlock looked down at his notebook, fidgeting with it for a moment. "Well, there's a colony here." He pointed up into the trellis.

John squinted at the trellis. He saw bees passing through a gap in the wooden structure. "Oh, wow. I never would have noticed that." He grinned at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned back. He hesitantly began to tell John what he'd observed that morning. As John listened, he couldn't stop himself from staring at Sherlock. His eyes lingered on Sherlock's strong forearms and graceful fingers, then his collarbone and the triangle of pale skin visible above his tortured shirt buttons, then his exquisite eyes, shining gray-green in the morning sunlight.

John noticed that Sherlock was looking him over as well, his eyes drawn consistently to John's chest, where his sweat-soaked shirt was clinging to him. John couldn't resist. He rolled his left shoulder back as though it was bothering him. His t-shirt pulled tighter across his chest, and John smiled to himself as Sherlock's eyes widened and the flush in his cheeks renewed itself.

Sherlock talked for several minutes, launching into a detailed explanation of the colony's role in the health of the rose garden. He was mid-sentence when he suddenly drew up short. "Oh, God," he said. "I must be boring you to death, going on about this-"

"No!" John interrupted, putting his hand on Sherlock's forearm. "No. It's interesting, and you clearly love it."

"It's not... too technical?"

"I'm keeping up just fine. I did take a few biology courses in medical school, you know."

Sherlock's face flushed again. "Of course you did. I didn't mean to imply..."

John leaned closer. "I know you didn't. Besides," John said, "You have an incredible voice. I could happily listen to you read the yellow pages for hours."

Sherlock looked down at his notebook, clearly struggling with how to respond to that.

"I was going to call you today."

Sherlock's head snapped back up. " _Today?_ But I thought-"

"I know. I was supposed to wait two more days. But I don't need two more days, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Because I'm sure. You're all I think about."

Sherlock stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words.

"I'll wait for two more days if you want me to. But I don't need them." John leaned in even closer. "Can I take you out to dinner?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Tonight?"

Sherlock managed to find his voice. "Monday."

"Monday, then. Pick you up at seven?"

Sherlock nodded again.

John squeezed Sherlock's arm lightly and stood up. "I'll see you on Monday, Sherlock." He jogged out of the rose garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting note: Loose park is the third-largest park in Kansas City. It is renowned for its rose garden. Christo and Jeanne-Claude's project, "Wrapped Walk Ways," planned in 1977-1978, was installed in Loose Park in October 1978.


	6. Chapter 6

Monday, August 22nd, 1977

6:59pm

John knocked. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He fussed with the collar of his suit jacket. Sherlock opened the door.

"Hello, John." Sherlock was wearing a dove gray three-piece suit without a tie, his shirt open at his throat. He was shockingly gorgeous.

John swallowed hard. "Hi, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled shyly at him. "You look very dashing."

John felt his cheeks flush. "Thank you. You look _incredible_. As usual."

John and Sherlock stayed at the restaurant until it closed. John kept catching himself gazing at Sherlock instead of eating. He was transfixed by the way the light from the candle on their table played across Sherlock's face and caught in his eyes with a verdigris glow. He was admiring the graceful curve of Sherlock's neck when Sherlock brought his hand up and rubbed at it as though the muscles were cramping. John's breath caught. As Sherlock lowered his hand, he dragged it down through his open collar. John felt his cheeks going pink. And then he saw the wicked little smirk that passed briefly over Sherlock's face. _Oh, I get it. That was payback. For me stretching at him in the park. He knows I did that on purpose_. John leaned over the table and spoke quietly. "Okay. We're even now."

Sherlock grinned at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

John grinned back, shook his head, and refocused on his food. After dinner, he took Sherlock back to his apartment for a drink.

Sherlock looked John's record collection over as John poured two glasses of red wine. As John handed Sherlock his glass, Sherlock turned toward him. "You have a very good collection here."

John's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Thanks. It's nothing compared to yours, of course."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, this is perfect. Nothing extraneous. You have excellent taste."

"Thank you." John's eyes dropped down to Sherlock's mouth before returning to his eyes. "Come sit down."

Sherlock's face flushed a little. He followed John to the couch. Both men took a sip of wine and set their glasses down on the coffee table.

John took Sherlock's hand in both of his. "Sherlock, two weeks ago you asked me to think through what I want. I have. And what I want is _you_."

Sherlock's expression softened. "But what about getting married? Having a wife? Children?"

"I _thought_ I wanted those things. I'm _supposed_ to want those things. But, Sherlock, I'm thirty-seven years old. If that was what I _really_ wanted, I would have done it by now."

"You were busy. Medical school, the war..."

"The men around me managed it. They got married while they were in school. Before they shipped out. Hell, some of them got married while they were on leave. If I'd really wanted a wife, I'd have one. But somehow I never found the right person." He squeezed Sherlock's hand and looked into his eyes. "Now I know why."

Sherlock's mouth fell open slightly.

"I didn't know it, but I was waiting for _you_. I'm falling in love with you, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a sharp breath. He looked intently into John's eyes. " _John_..." He put his free hand on the back of John's head and pushed his fingers into John's hair. He leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. He drew back and looked into John's eyes again. "I'm falling in love with you, too."

John's heart was pounding in his chest. He let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and gave Sherlock a huge grin.

A radiant smile broke over Sherlock's face. He pulled John into another slow kiss. John let go of Sherlock's hand so he could hold Sherlock's upper arms, keeping him close. He deepened the kiss, parting his lips to allow Sherlock in. Sherlock wrapped his arm around the small of John's back.

After kissing Sherlock's mouth thoroughly, John dipped down to Sherlock's neck, nuzzling into it. He kissed and licked at it. Sherlock gasped out, "John!" and pulled him closer. John moved his hands into Sherlock's hair and reclaimed his mouth.

He kissed Sherlock until he was lightheaded. Then Sherlock pushed forward. He tipped John onto his back and crawled over him, one knee beside John's hip and the opposite foot on the floor. John looked up at Sherlock and let out a low groan. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled his head down to kiss him again. Sherlock sighed against John's mouth. John put his other hand around Sherlock's waist and pulled him down. They both moaned, breaking their kiss as Sherlock's weight dropped onto John's body.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. John could feel Sherlock's erection pressing into his hip next to his own. Sherlock's eyes were dark with arousal. He rolled his hips slightly against John's. John gasped at the sensation, his mouth falling open. " _Sherlock_."

Sherlock reclaimed John's mouth, kissing him deeply as he continued rolling his hips gently. Waves of pleasure coursed through John's body. Suddenly, Sherlock sat upright, still straddling John. He grabbed hold of John's tie and gave it a light tug. John groaned again. Sherlock pulled John's tie loose and threw it down onto the floor. He yanked his own jacket off and threw that down as well. John's arousal surged even higher as he watched. He was gasping for breath.

Sherlock attacked John's shirt buttons, pulling the shirt out of John's trousers to get it completely open. "Oh..." he breathed as he revealed John's upper body. He put his elegant hands on John's chest, stroking over every inch of the bare skin he'd uncovered. "Oh, John, you are even more lovely than I'd imagined." He grasped John's dog tags delicately, lifting them off his chest.

"Never broke... the habit of... wearing them," John explained between his gasps for breath.

Sherlock smiled warmly and set the dog tags back down on John's chest. He pushed John's shirt farther back on his shoulders. "Will it hurt you if I touch your shoulder?

"Not as long... as you don't... lean on it."

Sherlock continued running his hands over John, exploring his upper body. The fingertips of his left hand were calloused. He bent down and dragged his tongue from John's pectoral to his collarbone. John arched his back and let out a choked cry. He realized all of a sudden that he didn't want to do this on the couch. Not the first time, anyway. He grabbed Sherlock's head with both hands. " _Sherlock_." He pulled Sherlock's head up so he could look at his face.

"John?" Sherlock's eyes were wide. He looked slightly wounded.

"Will you come to bed with me?"

Sherlock gave him a relieved smile. "Yes, John." He kissed John's mouth. "Yes." He stood up unsteadily and held out his hand. John took it and let Sherlock pull him to his feet. John kept hold of Sherlock's hand and led him to the bedroom. He threw the bedspread and sheet back. Sherlock sat down on John's bed.

John froze, suddenly unsure of what Sherlock expected from him. And afraid he wouldn't get it right. Sherlock was watching him carefully. He reached up and put his hand on John's cheek. "John. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"I want to." John took a deep breath and let it out. "I want to. It's just... I haven't done this."

"I know." Sherlock stood up. He took hold of John's face with both hands and bent down to look right into John's eyes. "There are no rules, John. All I want is to make you feel good. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

John nodded. "I know. Just... tell me if I do it wrong, okay?"

"You won't do it wrong, John. I promise." Sherlock pressed his mouth to John's briefly. "Although I think we shouldn't be wearing all of these clothes." He grinned at John.

John grinned back and started pulling his shoes and socks off. Sherlock did the same. They giggled quietly together as they grabbed each other for balance. John unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. Sherlock followed John's lead again, unbuttoning his own. He took his watch off and put it on John's nightstand. John put his watch and his dog tags next to Sherlock's watch. He quickly shrugged his suit jacket and shirt off his shoulders and threw them aside. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Sherlock's hands came up to stroke John's upper arms, before moving to his back. John shuddered at the feel of Sherlock's hands on his bare skin. He pushed his remaining fears aside and reached for Sherlock's vest buttons. When he had the vest open, he went after Sherlock's shirt buttons.

As he pulled Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers and opened it, John pressed his mouth against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock tipped his head back, lifting a hand and resting it lightly on the back of John's head. John pushed Sherlock's shirt and vest off his shoulders and flung them over a chair. "God, you're gorgeous," he said quietly against Sherlock's skin. Sherlock had a surprising amount of muscle tone for such a thin man. John dragged his fingers and his mouth everywhere he could reach.

Sherlock traced one of his hands down John's back before bringing it around to grab at John's belt. John took the hint and pulled Sherlock's belt off, letting it fall at their feet. Sherlock dropped John's belt on top of it.

Sherlock put one hand under John's chin and lifted his head. He looked into John's eyes, clearly checking to make sure he was comfortable before going further. John smiled and pressed a kiss onto Sherlock's mouth. He pulled back, nodded slightly, and reached for the waistband of Sherlock's trousers. When he had thrown the trousers over the chair with Sherlock's shirt and vest, John took a step back to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock stood in front of John's bed in his expensive black underpants, looking intently into John's eyes. John allowed his gaze to drift down Sherlock's body. His breath caught when he saw the distinct outline of an impressive erection. Then Sherlock's hand was on his cheek. John looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"All right, John?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Better than all right." John quickly removed his own trousers, smiling to himself when he saw Sherlock's eyes widen at the sight of John's clothed erection.

John guided Sherlock down into his bed, crawling on top of him. Sherlock pulled John down and immediately wrapped his legs around him. John moaned quietly at the feel of Sherlock's warm body underneath his as his hips instinctively pushed forward against Sherlock's.

Sherlock gasped, arching his back. His chest pushed up against John's before he dropped back against the bed. John's hands found their way into Sherlock's hair as he claimed his mouth in a scorching kiss. Sherlock moaned against John's mouth and wrapped his arms tightly around John's back.

John rolled his hips against Sherlock's and broke away from his mouth to attack Sherlock's neck. He began thrusting his hips steadily as he licked a long stripe from Sherlock's collarbone to his ear.

Sherlock cried out loudly and pushed his hands down to John's ass, grabbing it and forcing John down against him even more tightly. "John," he groaned as John nipped at his neck.

Suddenly, John couldn't tolerate the remaining clothing between them for a moment longer. He pushed back and drew his legs up so he could kneel. Sherlock's long legs were still wrapped around him, but his arms fell away as John drew back. Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact. There was concern in his eyes. John moved his hands to Sherlock's hips and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock's underwear. "Off. I want these off. Now."

Sherlock sighed in relief, closing his eyes. "Oh God, John, _yes!_ "

John unwound Sherlock's legs from his waist and moved to kneel at his left side. He put his hands back on Sherlock's hips and looked up at his face. Sherlock's eyes were still closed, and his mouth was slightly open. John carefully pulled Sherlock's underwear down and off. Sherlock pulled his knees up to help. John sat back and allowed himself to look for a moment. Sherlock was _beautiful_.

John was mildly surprised at the word that had popped into his head. He had never described a man as "beautiful" before. Handsome, yes. Attractive. Good-looking. Once in a great while he might think "gorgeous." But beautiful? That was a first.

John reached out and put his fingertips on Sherlock's hipbone. He looked up and saw that Sherlock's eyes had opened. Sherlock was gazing at him with undisguised want. He shuddered as John trailed his fingertips all the way from Sherlock's hip to the hinge of his jaw and leaned down. "Sherlock, you're _beautiful_."

John brushed his lips gently over Sherlock's and laid down next to him. Sherlock rolled to his side and put his hand on John's hip. His fingers were trembling. He looked into John's eyes and tucked his fingers into the waistband of John's briefs. John nodded, and Sherlock took them off of him, sitting up to get them off John's feet.

Sherlock took a moment to look at John before he dropped back down next to him. He put a trembling hand on John's cheek. "You're utterly gorgeous, John." John surged forward and kissed him hard. Sherlock gasped against John's mouth and clutched at John's hair.

John dragged his hand down Sherlock's neck and over his chest and stomach. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock and held it firmly. Sherlock convulsed in pleasure. His mouth broke away from John's as he cried out loudly. "Oh! Oh, God! _John!_ " He buried his face against John's shoulder.

John stroked him once. Sherlock thrashed against him and cried out wordlessly. John stroked him again. Sherlock cried out again. He let go of John's hair and grabbed at his arm. "John! John, wait!" he said against John's shoulder.

John let go. _Oh, God, was that wrong?_

"I can't last, John, I'm too close! I'm sorry!" Sherlock was pressing his face against John's shoulder, panting.

 _Oh, thank God that's all it is_. John gently pulled away and lifted Sherlock's head with both hands so he could see him. Sherlock's eyes were cast down. "Hey," John said quietly. Sherlock finally met his eyes. "We're just going to make each other feel good, remember?"

Sherlock's eyes softened. He nodded.

John stroked Sherlock's cheekbone with his thumb. "You want to come now?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. He shook his head and reopened them. "I want to touch you first. Could I touch you, John?"

John's eyes fell closed as he moaned softly. "Yes, Sherlock. God, yes!" He opened his eyes. Sherlock looked into John's eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze. He reached down and passed his graceful fingers lightly over John's cock. John gasped in pleasure. His cock twitched toward Sherlock.

A little smile crossed Sherlock's face. He lifted his hand to his own mouth and licked it. John's mouth dropped open as he watched. When Sherlock took hold of him with his wet hand, intense pleasure coursed through John's entire body. John groaned and let his head fall back. Sherlock immediately dove forward to drag his tongue from John's collarbone to his jawline. At the same time, he began to stroke John steadily.

John was lost. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's head to keep him close as his hips pushed forward instinctively. John's world shrank down to only the points of contact between his body and Sherlock's. Sherlock's mouth on his neck, Sherlock's hair under his fingers, Sherlock's hand on his cock. Then Sherlock's voice was in his ear. "Let go, John. Come for me."

John's vision whited out. He gasped deeply and stopped breathing. His back arched as he came over Sherlock's hand. When he finished, he moaned and panted as he began breathing again. "Oh, _God_ , Sherlock!" As he began to come back to himself, he realized he was clutching tightly at Sherlock's hair. He let go and untangled his fingers, afraid he'd been hurting him.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked into John's eyes. He was _wrecked_.

John didn't break eye contact. He lifted his trembling hand to his own mouth. He licked it and reached down blindly for Sherlock's cock. As he wrapped his hand around it, Sherlock cried out. "John! _John!_ " He squeezed his eyes shut.

John stroked Sherlock and leaned forward to speak quietly against Sherlock's neck. "That's it, Sherlock. Come on!"

Sherlock's whole body convulsed. He cried out wordlessly as he came. His cries devolved into whimpers as he finished. The tension began to leave his body, and he curled limply against John.

John gathered him into his arms despite the mess between their bodies. He stroked Sherlock's shoulder with his clean hand. Both of them were still trembling. John rested his cheek on Sherlock's hair. His heart felt like it would burst. _I love him. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone_. John closed his eyes and concentrated on the way Sherlock felt in his arms.

Sherlock grew more and more relaxed and heavy in John's embrace. His breathing was slowing. John found himself drifting toward sleep as well. _We'll be very sorry in the morning if we go to sleep without cleaning up_. He took a deep breath and began to untangle himself from Sherlock. Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow and looked at John with concern. John stroked Sherlock's hair with his clean hand. "Just going to get us cleaned up. I'll be right back." Sherlock dropped back down and closed his eyes.

John cleaned up in the bathroom and went back to Sherlock with a washcloth. "Scoot over," he said as he moved Sherlock to a cleaner part of the bed and handed him the washcloth. When Sherlock was done, John took the cloth back to the bathroom and returned to bed.

Sherlock was sitting up, looking down at his own knees. He'd pulled the sheet up to his chest. "Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly without looking up.

" _God_ , no!" John exclaimed as he crawled back into bed under the sheet and pulled Sherlock against him. "Do you... do you _want_ to leave?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. But it's all right if you want me to go." He still wasn't looking at John.

John put his hand under Sherlock's chin and lifted his face, looking into his eyes. "Will you stay with me, Sherlock? I don't want you to go."

Sherlock smiled shyly. "All right, John."

John kissed him gently and reached out to turn off the lamp. He settled back and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I pulled your hair."

"Don't be."

"Didn't it hurt, though?"

"Not in a bad way."

"... Oh..."

"Good night, John." John could hear the smile in Sherlock's voice.

"... Good night."

John closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Vest" is American for waistcoat.
> 
> John should also be referring to trousers as "pants," but I thought "trousers" would be less confusing.


	7. Chapter 7

Tuesday, August 23rd, 1977

6:00am

The sky was pale with the approaching sunrise when John opened his eyes. Sherlock's head rested heavily on his chest. John held him a little tighter for a few minutes, memorizing the way Sherlock felt in his arms.

John slid carefully out from under him. Sherlock didn't open his eyes. He burrowed down into the bed with a sigh. John gazed at him for a little while before grabbing some clothes and heading to the bathroom.

After John had showered and brushed his teeth, he peeked back into the bedroom. Sherlock hadn't moved. John smiled. He watched the beautiful man sleeping in his bed for a few moments before going to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He heard the water running in the bathroom as he finished cooking the bacon. He kept himself busy, waiting. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, smiling sheepishly. He'd put on his trousers and shirt, although the shirt was untucked and only partially buttoned. His hair was tousled and his feet were bare. He was _adorable_.

John smiled at him broadly. "Hi."

"Good morning, John."

John walked over to him and put a hand on his waist. Sherlock took a sharp breath. John put his other hand on the back of Sherlock's neck. "Yes, it is," he said. He pulled Sherlock down into a kiss. Sherlock melted against him, letting out a little sigh. John pulled back. "Come eat breakfast with me."

Sherlock nodded shyly. He sat down and picked at the food, eating _maybe_ half a piece of bacon and a few bites of egg. When John finished eating and stood up, Sherlock retrieved the rest of his clothes and put his shoes on. He walked toward the door holding his jacket.

John grabbed his car keys and followed him. "You need to get home to get ready for work, don't you? I'll drive you."

Sherlock turned to face him. "You don't have to. I can walk. It isn't fa-"

John cut Sherlock off by rising up on his toes and kissing him hard. He dropped back down. "Don't be silly. Of course I'll drive you."

Sherlock's cheeks went pink. "All right."

As they walked to John's car, John glanced around nervously. He hoped his neighbors wouldn't see him escorting a disheveled young man out of his apartment just after dawn. He was already worried about what they must have heard the night before. Sherlock had been kind of... vocal.

When John pulled up in front of Sherlock's building, he looked around quickly to make sure they were alone. He leaned across the seat to grab the front of Sherlock's shirt and kiss him one more time. He pulled back, keeping hold of Sherlock's shirt and looking into his remarkable eyes. They were ice blue in the light coming through the car window. "Can I call you later?"

Sherlock nodded slightly. "I'd like that," he said, smiling shyly.

"Good." He let go of Sherlock's shirt. He didn't drive away until Sherlock had disappeared into the building.

John went home and cleaned up the breakfast dishes. After he was finished, he went to the bedroom to get ready for work. He realized he didn't have his watch or dog tags on. _Where did I leave them? Oh, yeah, the nightstand_. He smiled to himself, remembering how they wound up there. He walked over and stopped short. Sherlock's watch was still next to his.

John reached out and picked up Sherlock's watch. It was heavy. The leather band was soft and thick. If felt expensive. John looked at it for a moment. He turned it over. There was engraving on the back. "WSSH." _His initials, I suppose? I wonder what the "W" and the other "S" stand for._ John stroked his fingertips over the letters. He moved to put the watch down, but found he didn't want to let go. He smiled again as he slipped the watch into his pocket.

2:15pm

John stopped in the hallway to make a note on Mrs. Sheffield's chart. He felt Sherlock's watch bump against his thigh. He stopped writing, suddenly unable to think of anything but Sherlock. He indulged himself for a moment, allowing his mind to wander. He remembered the way the candlelight had danced in Sherlock's eyes at dinner the night before. And the way Sherlock's whole face had lit up that morning when John asked if he could call him.

"What's her name?"

John jumped a little. He hadn't heard Sarah approach him. "What?"

"What's her name, John?"

John's brow furrowed. "Whose name?" He squinted down at the chart in his hands, unable to remember whose it was.

Sarah laughed. "Whoever it is that's got you staring into the middle distance with a beatific smile on your face!"

"I... I'm not... staring into anything, Sarah."

"Fine. Don't tell me. But you're not fooling anyone. I've seen that look before. You're in love, aren't you?"

"Honestly, Sarah, I'm just... tired... or... something."

Sarah laughed again. "Okay, John. Whatever you say. If you're done with Mrs. Sheffield, Mr. Cooper is asking for you."

"Okay, thank you." John stared back down at the chart. _Mrs. Sheffield. What was I writing?_

Sarah giggled and walked away.

6:20pm

John stepped out of the elevator, approached Sherlock's door, and raised his hand to knock. He froze, his hand suspended. Then he leaned closer, resting his hand on the door and turning his head to put his ear next to it.

The sound of Sherlock's violin filtered out through the door. It was plaintive, almost desperate. John was spellbound. As Sherlock played on, his sound changed into something fiery. Passionate. John leaned even closer, resting his temple against the door. After a few minutes, Sherlock's music changed again. It felt joyful. John closed his eyes and let it wash over him.

Sherlock stopped abruptly. John opened his eyes and stood up straight. After a moment, Sherlock repeated the last 10-15 seconds of music. He stopped again. He repeated the music, but this time it was slightly different.

John realized he'd been standing there eavesdropping for several minutes. He shook his head and waited for Sherlock to stop again. He knocked.

After a moment, John heard Sherlock's footsteps. The door opened. Sherlock was wearing a white dress shirt and black trousers under a blue silk robe. "Oh! John, I wasn't expecting you!"

"I know. I'm sorry, I know I said I was just going to call, but I couldn't return this to you over the phone." He held out Sherlock's watch.

Sherlock looked down at the watch. "Oh... thank you, John. Will you come in?"

"If I wouldn't be imposing..."

"Not at all. Please." Sherlock took a step back so John could come in. "I'm glad you're here," he added quietly as John passed him. He closed the door.

"Me too." John rose up on his toes and kissed him softly. He dropped back down and held the watch out again. "So, what does 'WSSH' stand for?"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"And all of that is you?"

Sherlock chuckled. He took the watch from John's hand and put it in the pocket of his robe. "Yes."

"I have to confess something, Sherlock."

"What is it?" Sherlock looked mildly concerned.

"I kept your watch in my pocket all day." He looked up at Sherlock. "To prove to myself that I wasn't just dreaming last night."

" _John_." Sherlock put his hand over his mouth.

John reached up and brushed his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I'm glad you forgot it. I liked having something of yours with me."

Sherlock closed his eyes. John kept stroking his hair.

"One of the other doctors caught me daydreaming about you this afternoon. She said I looked like I was in love."

Sherlock's eyes flew back open.

John leaned closer to him. "She was right." He brought his other hand up and pulled Sherlock's hand away from his mouth as he rose up on his toes to kiss him tenderly. "I love you." He began to kiss him between each word. "William. Sherlock. Scott. Holmes." After one more gentle kiss, he dropped back down.

Sherlock looked down at John in wonder. " _John_..."

"And I have to confess one more thing." He was still holding Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock seemed unable to speak.

"I heard you playing your violin. When I was in the hallway. I... didn't knock right away."

"... Oh..."

"Your playing was... It was incredible. So expressive. I was transfixed. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just... sort of... froze up in front of your door when I heard you. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have listened like that."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's all right, John."

"Do you mind if I ask what you were playing? It was really remarkable."

Sherlock looked down at their joined hands. "It was... an original composition."

John's mouth fell open. "You mean... do you mean you wrote it yourself?"

Sherlock nodded, still looking down at their hands. "It's not finished yet."

"Oh my God, it was _amazing_ , Sherlock!" He put his other hand to Sherlock's cheek. "You're _brilliant_."

Sherlock shook his head again slightly.

"What's it called? Does it have a title yet?"

"Not yet," Sherlock said quietly.

"What's it about? Are you thinking about something specific when you work on it?"

Sherlock's cheeks were turning pink. "Well..."

"Oh, I'm sorry! You don't have to answer that."

Sherlock ducked his head. "It's all right, John. I... I don't mind." He finally looked into John's eyes again. His cheeks had gone fully pink. "I _was_... thinking about something... _someone_..." He took a deep breath. "I was thinking about _you_ , John."

John's heart thumped in his chest. He felt light-headed. "W-what?"

Sherlock dropped John's hand so he could reach out and hold John's face with both hands. "I was thinking about _you_ , John. I love you."

He leaned in and kissed John gently. John was still in shock. _Sherlock wrote that incredible music about_ me? _This brilliant, beautiful man_ loves _me?_

As John gained some of his faculties back, he deepened the kiss, putting one hand on Sherlock's hip. He brought his other hand to the open collar of Sherlock's shirt. He grabbed a handful of the fabric and twisted lightly. Sherlock gasped against John's mouth. Emboldened now, John tugged slightly at Sherlock's shirt and took control of the kiss.

Sherlock swayed, yielding readily to John. John used his grip on Sherlock to crowd him backward until he hit the wall of the entryway with a deep groan. Sherlock sagged against the wall as his knees began to buckle. John pushed his body firmly against Sherlock's. Sherlock shuddered. He whimpered against John's mouth.

John broke away from Sherlock's mouth to drag a line of kisses across his jaw and down the length of his neck. He growled and rolled his hips against Sherlock's. Sherlock dropped his head back and moaned. "Ohhhh... _John_..." He grabbed a handful of John's hair and held him in place.

John licked his way back up the entire length of Sherlock's neck as he continued to thrust his hips forward, pinning Sherlock to the wall. He could feel Sherlock's cock pressing into him, next to his own. He moaned into Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was every bit as hard as John was.

John squeezed both of his arms between their bodies and pulled clumsily at Sherlock's shirt buttons. He dragged his mouth back down Sherlock's neck and onto his chest, licking at the pale skin he was revealing as he worked Sherlock's shirt open.

As John pulled Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers and fully opened it, he looked up to see Sherlock's head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Sherlock whimpered and tightened his grip on John's hair as John dipped down to swirl his tongue over one small, pink nipple.

Sherlock pushed his chest forward as his nipple pebbled beautifully against John's tongue. He then pulled John's face upward with both hands and claimed John's mouth in a searing kiss, arching his body away from the wall and thrusting it against John's.

In an astonishingly quick move, Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and spun them both around, reversing their positions. John groaned against Sherlock's mouth as his back hit the wall. Sherlock hadn't even broken their kiss.

Sherlock's fingertips made their way from John's shoulders to his neck to just behind his ears. Sherlock cupped John's face in his graceful hands and slowed their kiss. John sighed as Sherlock's mouth became more deliberate, more tender, almost... worshipful. John responded in kind, pouring all of his adoration, wonder, and yearning into their kiss.

He brought his hands to Sherlock's waist, sliding them inside Sherlock's open shirt and around to his lower back. He held Sherlock close as they kissed. At length, John broke away from Sherlock's mouth to lavish attention on his neck again. He spoke against Sherlock's neck without thinking, the words flowing unbidden from his mouth. "Sherlock. Love you. So much. God, I love you. So beautiful. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Amazing. How can I be so lucky? How? I must be dreaming. Oh, God, I love you. You remarkable, incredible man! _Sherlock_."

Sherlock had one hand on the back of John's head and was stroking his uninjured shoulder with the other. He began to tremble as he listened to John's litany of praise against his neck. " _John!_ "

He bent down to reclaim John's mouth. After kissing John deeply, he pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I love you, John. More than I've ever loved anyone." John's heart was so full he thought it might burst. Sherlock continued, "You are... _everything_." And with that, Sherlock went to his knees.

John gasped deeply. He clutched at the wall as though he could grip it for balance. His knees quivered, threatening to buckle. Sherlock hadn't broken eye contact. His eyes burned into John's. John moaned quietly. "Oh, God, _Sherlock_."

Sherlock took hold of John's belt. He deftly removed it and opened John's trousers. John reached down to stroke his fingers along Sherlock's jaw. "You don't have to..."

Sherlock's eyes were dark with arousal as he looked up at John. "I want to." His voice was low and breathy. "Oh, God, John, I want to. _Please_."

John's mouth fell open in shock. "Hngh." He nodded his head, having lost the ability to speak. A little smile passed over Sherlock's face as he quickly opened John's shirt, pausing for a moment to stroke his fingers over John's dog tags. He pulled John's trousers and briefs halfway down his thighs. John gasped for breath as he braced his hands against the wall and focused on keeping himself upright.

"Gorgeous," Sherlock whispered reverently. John watched as Sherlock reached up with both hands and put his fingertips against John's collarbone. "You're absolutely gorgeous, John." Sherlock trailed his fingers down John's chest and over his stomach.

John took a deep breath in anticipation, but Sherlock's hands moved out to either side to drag down his hipbones and onto his thighs. John whimpered helplessly. _Oh, you tease_. Sherlock's hands reversed direction, moving back up his thighs. One hand gripped John's hip while the other took hold of John's cock. John shuddered. "Ah!"

Sherlock bent forward and licked a broad stripe up John's cock, base to tip. John gasped, clutching at the wall again. With no hesitation, Sherlock took the head of John's cock into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue. John cried out before he could stop himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth as Sherlock began moving up and down steadily, still working John with his tongue. John was sobbing with pleasure, his hand still clamped tightly over his mouth.

Sherlock reached out blindly to find John's other hand. When he found it, Sherlock pulled it onto his own head and put John's fingers in his hair. John was completely lost in pleasure. He let his hand rest lightly on Sherlock's head. Sherlock pulled off just long enough to say, "Pull, John!" He went back down.

John stared down at the top of Sherlock's head incredulously. Sherlock let out a frustrated little noise and put his hand back on top of John's. He pushed at John's fingers, curling them into his hair. John flexed his fingers in Sherlock's hair and seized as much of it as he could. He felt Sherlock gasp. He gave his hand a little twist. Sherlock moaned around John's cock, and John nearly came. John bit down on his own hand, determined to hang on a little longer. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall with a thud. He groaned into his hand.

John opened his eyes and looked down when he felt Sherlock tugging at his arm. Sherlock pulled off and looked up at him. He continued stroking John's wet cock with his other hand. John whimpered at the sight of his face, mouth wet and eyes dark. Sherlock pulled his arm again, almost dislodging John's hand from his mouth. "Let go. I want to hear you."

John shook his head, but Sherlock pulled harder and John let him pull his hand down. "N-neighbors," John said brokenly. "Could hear."

" _Don't care_ ," Sherlock growled. "Let _me_ hear." And he dove back down. He moved one hand to John's balls and the other around to grip his ass. John cried out uncontrollably. He twisted his trembling hand in Sherlock's hair and tried to hold back, but he was too far gone.

"Sher-Sherlock," he sobbed. "'Gonna... gonna come." He pulled Sherlock's head back, but Sherlock used his grip on John's ass to take John right along with him, moaning deeply at the pull on his hair.

Sherlock swallowed around John as he came incredibly hard. John was vaguely aware that he was crying out loudly. Sherlock held John tightly until he sagged weakly against the wall, whimpering. John loosened his fingers and allowed his hand to slip out of Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock released John and sat back on his heels. He pulled desperately at his own belt and opened his trousers. John slid down the wall, dropping onto his knees in front of Sherlock. As he tried to catch his breath, he pushed his legs out past Sherlock's side and sat against the wall. He reached out and took hold of Sherlock's upper arms. By this time Sherlock had his underwear pushed partway down his hips.

John pulled Sherlock forward, bringing him back up on his knees. "Come here. Come on." He dropped one hand to the back of Sherlock's knee and lifted it over his own legs. He tugged at Sherlock until he was settled in John's lap, his knees on either side of John's hips. Sherlock swayed slightly. His thighs quivered. He draped his arms over John's shoulders and let his head droop. " _John_ ," he whimpered.

"I know. I've got you." John licked his hand, pushed it into Sherlock's open trousers, and wrapped it around his cock. He dragged his thumb across the head. Sherlock shuddered and moaned loudly in relief. John didn't try to make it last, knowing that Sherlock was already incredibly close. He stroked Sherlock steadily, twisting slightly over the head. Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder, crying out, "John, John, oh God, _John!_ "

John murmured into Sherlock's ear. "That's it, Sherlock. Yes. That's _beautiful_. Perfect. Come on, show me!"

Sherlock's arms tightened around John's shoulders. His body went rigid. He cried out wordlessly into John's shoulder as he came over John's hand and onto his chest and stomach. John worked him through it, still murmuring his encouragements. "That's it. _So gorgeous_."

Sherlock made a keening noise as he relaxed, heavy in John's lap. John let go of Sherlock's cock and let his wet hand drop to the side. He stroked his clean hand through Sherlock's hair. "Beautiful."

Sherlock slid his hands down John's back and pulled him forward. He straightened up and pressed their upper bodies together, heedless of the mess on John's body. At first, John instinctively flinched at spreading the mess, but then he readily gave himself over with an indulgent little chuckle. One of Sherlock's hands moved up to the back of John's head and cradled it against his chest. John could hear Sherlock's heart pounding wildly and feel him trembling. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head. "I love you so much."

John sighed against Sherlock's chest. "I love you, too. _God_ , I love you." He slid his clean hand under Sherlock's shirt and robe and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's back. He held him tightly and listened to Sherlock's heart as it gradually slowed its frantic pace.

After a few minutes, John sighed heavily and lifted his head. He grinned up at Sherlock. "I hate to ask you to move, but I think we should eventually get off the floor."

Sherlock sighed and squeezed John tighter. He made a grumbly little noise before he released John. Sherlock pulled back, scrunching up his face when he saw the mess on their bodies.

John giggled. "Come on. Let's get more comfortable." Sherlock stood up gracefully as John struggled to get to his feet with his trousers still halfway down and his legs half asleep.

John pulled his underwear and trousers up. He shook his head, still marveling at his luck. He was grinning like a fool when Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the entryway, through the living room, and into a spacious and elegantly appointed bathroom. Sherlock handed him a washcloth.

When they were cleaned up, they went into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. John pulled Sherlock close. Neither of them had bothered rebuttoning their shirts. Sherlock rested his head on John's uninjured shoulder. He put his hand on John's chest, toying idly with his dog tags.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think your neighbors heard us?"

"What does it matter, John?"

"You don't... worry that people will... know?"

Sherlock sat up, letting John's dog tags drop back against his chest. "That people will know what, John? That I had sex?"

 _Oh, God, he's going to make me say it_. "That you had sex with a _man_ , Sherlock. That you're... gay."

"No. I don't care what people think. And I don't hide, John."

John scrubbed his hand over his own face. "That's... good, Sherlock. I'm glad. But I don't have a choice. When we're at my place, we'll have to be... more discreet."

"Oh, for God's sake, John. If anyone says anything, just tell them it was _you_ they heard."

John tilted his head at Sherlock. "Okay, setting aside convincing them that I turn into a baritone when I have sex, you would have me tell them I moan my own name?"

Sherlock grinned at him. "I don't see why not. You're very sexy."

John laughed. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yes, I know." Sherlock tucked his head back down on John's shoulder. John wrapped his arms around him.

They were quiet for a long time, but the silence that had fallen over them was broken when John's stomach growled loudly. Sherlock giggled. "Hungry, are you?"

"A little," John replied sheepishly. "Want to go get something?"

Sherlock groaned. "Not really. Don't want to move."

"Have you got anything here?"

"Not really."

"You like barbecue?"

Sherlock sighed and squeezed John tightly before letting go and sitting up straight. "Fine. Let's go."

After they'd made themselves presentable, John followed Sherlock into the elevator. Sherlock pressed the button for the basement instead of the ground floor. "I'll drive," he said in response to John's puzzled look. John couldn't help grinning. He'd been itching to get a closer look at that Mustang.

As Sherlock pulled out of the underground parking garage, he accelerated dramatically. John grabbed onto the Mustang's door and let out a surprised noise. He giggled. "You drive like a bat out of hell!"

Sherlock's foot came off the accelerator. "Sorry."

"No!" John grinned at him. "Don't stop. I love it."

Sherlock smirked and took the next turn way too quickly.

While they ate, John worked very hard at not thinking about licking the barbecue sauce off of Sherlock's fingers. And his mouth. And... and John was spectacularly unsuccessful. It didn't help that Sherlock seemed to know _exactly_ what John was thinking.

Sherlock parked his car back in its spot in his building's underground parking. He turned to John. "John, will you... stay with me tonight?"

John smiled warmly. "I was hoping you'd ask." He looked around quickly to make sure they were alone before pulling Sherlock into a heated kiss.

Sherlock pulled back, breathless. "Upstairs. _Now_."

After locking the apartment door behind them, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and pulled him into his bedroom. John staggered to a halt. Sherlock's bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows identical to the ones in his living room and a massive king size bed. Sherlock tugged on John's arm again until they were next to the bed. John grinned when he spotted a framed scientific diagram of a bee on the wall.

Then Sherlock's hands were all over him, pulling at his clothes. When they'd both dropped their clothes in a heap on the floor, they crawled into Sherlock's bed. Sherlock held John close as they stroked each other, coaxing shattering orgasms from each other's bodies.

After cleaning up, they twined themselves together under the covers. John lazily kissed Sherlock's neck, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's hair.

"John."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock was tensing up. John sat up slightly to look at his face.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I don't want any secrets between us. I want... to confess something."

John's chest felt tight. "Okay."

"I didn't forget my watch this morning."

John's brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I left it intentionally."

John was at a loss. "Why?"

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling. "You are clearly a man of integrity. You would never keep an item of value such as my watch. You would bring it back to me, even if you..." He hesitated. "Even if you... changed your mind about me."

" _Changed my mi_ -"

"And I might have been able to see your face one last time."

John was stunned. He squeezed his eyes closed. " _Oh my God, Sherlock_." His heart was aching. He put his hand over his chest and tried to breathe.

"Are you angry?"

John opened his eyes. He pulled Sherlock more tightly into his arms. "God, no, of course not." He felt some of the tension leave Sherlock's body. "Not with you. Victor, however, I could murder with my bare hands."

Sherlock tensed back up. "John..."

"I'm serious, Sherlock." John took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He put a hand on Sherlock's cheek and looked into his eyes. "Listen to me, okay? I will _never_ change my mind about you. I love you, Sherlock. I'm yours. For as long as you want me, I'm yours." He stroked his thumb over Sherlock's cheekbone.

Sherlock's expression went soft. He began to relax. "John... I love you so much I don't know what to do. I don't want to... mess this up."

"Hey." John put his forehead against Sherlock's. "You're not going to mess anything up. I'm not going anywhere." He kissed Sherlock gently. Sherlock melted against him.

As the sky grew darker, they held each other and talked quietly. John found himself telling Sherlock things he hadn't spoken of in years. Things he'd never told anyone else. Sherlock was opening up to him as well. They talked for hours in the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows before drifting off to sleep, tangled together in Sherlock's bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday, September 4th, 1977

5:20pm

"Come on." John smacked the dashboard. He turned the key again, flooring the accelerator. "Come _on_ , damn it!" The Vega strained, but the engine wouldn't catch. John let go and slumped back against the seat with an aggravated groan. He yanked the key out of the ignition and hit the dashboard again. " _You piece of shit!_ "

He got out and slammed the car door, giving it a kick for good measure. He stalked back into his apartment, throwing his keys down. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm down as he dialed Sherlock's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"John. Is something wrong?"

"My stupid car won't start. I'm sorry."

"It's no problem, John. I'll drive. You're at your flat?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

"Thanks, Sherlock." He paused, the tension dissipating from his body. "I love you."

"Love you, too. See you soon."

"Okay."

John dropped onto his couch and put his hands over his face. _That fucking car_. He lowered his hands and let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

When he heard Sherlock's knock, he got up and opened the door. He looked up at Sherlock and gasped, his mouth dropping open.

John's entire circulatory system was rerouting itself. Sherlock stepped past John into the apartment. John turned, still gaping at him. Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Are you all right, John?"

"Hngh." John realized he was still holding the door open. He quickly closed and locked it. He turned to look at Sherlock again. His face felt hot. "I... I've never seen you... dressed like that."

Sherlock glanced down at his jeans, combat boots, and black Thin Lizzy t-shirt. He looked at John again, tilting his head. "Did you expect me to wear a suit to an Iggy Pop concert? The crowd would tear me apart."

"I... no. I just... wasn't prepared for... this. You. Is that... _eyeliner?_ Just. _God_." John couldn't hold back anymore. He surged forward, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him down. He crushed his mouth against Sherlock's and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Sherlock was laughing against John's mouth, but his body responded immediately. One of Sherlock's hands landed on the back of John's head. The other grabbed a firm handful of John's ass.

John pushed Sherlock backward until they smacked into the wall, both of them gasping on impact. John was achingly hard already, and he could feel Sherlock catching up quickly. He ground his hips against Sherlock's, moaning quietly against Sherlock's mouth. He moved on to Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock tipped his head back, letting it thud against the wall. He was laughing again. "We'll miss dinner, John," he teased.

John growled into Sherlock's neck and rolled his hips against him again. He moved his hands to Sherlock's hips and under his t-shirt to grasp his waist. Sherlock's skin was warm. John sighed against his collarbone.

John took half a step back, his hands still on Sherlock's waist. Sherlock's chest rose and fell rapidly as he gasped for breath. John looked up into Sherlock's eyes. They were filled with desire. John was trembling with need. He knew what he wanted to do. He hadn't done it yet because he'd been nervous and, frankly, intimidated by Sherlock's considerable skill. But, looking up into the heat in Sherlock's eyes, he knew it was time. John smiled wolfishly and dropped down onto his knees, eyes still locked on Sherlock's.

Sherlock's eyes widened. His mouth fell open with a whimper. John began to unbutton Sherlock's jeans.

" _John_. Are you sure?"

John nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Now?"

John paused. He had Sherlock's fly open. He held onto the denim with both hands and fixed his eyes on Sherlock's. " _Right. Now._ "

Sherlock cradled John's face in his hands, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. His hands were trembling. "If you're certain. You don't have to prove anything to me."

John grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and kissed the palm. "I know." He let go and took hold of Sherlock's jeans again. There was a soft thud above him as Sherlock's head dropped back against the wall again.

John pulled Sherlock's jeans down to his knees, taking his underwear with them. Sherlock's cock sprung free, fully erect, right in front of John's face. John took a moment to look. He lifted his hand and grasped it gently. Sherlock whined. John bent forward and pressed his lips to the head. Sherlock's whole body shuddered. John put his tongue to the base and licked a broad stripe all the way to the tip, which was already wet with precome. Sherlock moaned quietly. John licked him again and took the head into his mouth. He heard a muffled groan above him. He glanced up to see Sherlock staring heatedly at him, one hand clasped tightly over his mouth. John's arousal surged. He concentrated hard, working his lips and tongue over Sherlock and sucking lightly, all while keeping his teeth off of him. He used one hand to keep Sherlock's cock steady and cupped his balls with the other.

John knew his technique was far from perfect, but Sherlock was going to pieces above him all the same. Sherlock shuddered and gasped, still covering his mouth in what was clearly a desperate attempt to be quiet. After a few minutes, John felt him get harder. Sherlock began patting at John's head. He moved his hand from his mouth just long enough to choke out a single word. " _Coming!_ "

John knew Sherlock was giving him the chance to back off, but he was determined to see this through. He sucked harder, swirling his tongue over the head. Sherlock's body went rigid. He moaned brokenly into his hand. John pulled back slightly and swallowed as Sherlock came into his mouth.

When Sherlock had finished and sagged limply against the wall, John sat back. He was desperately aroused and trembling. Then Sherlock was pulling him up, back onto his feet. Sherlock pushed John backward until he dropped down onto the couch.

Sherlock went to his knees in front of him and pushed John's legs apart. He pulled John forward until his hips were at the edge of the couch, quickly yanked his jeans open, and swallowed him down.

John groaned deeply in relief. He'd been aching and desperate since the moment he'd seen Sherlock. He arched his back and clapped a hand over his mouth. He put his other hand on Sherlock's head, threading his fingers into his hair.

Sherlock worked John hard. He didn't waste time trying to tease, clearly aware that John was too far gone. John tugged at Sherlock's hair, causing Sherlock to moan around his cock. With a muffled shout, John came hard. Sherlock kept working him until he dropped back against the couch, spent.

Sherlock rested his forehead against John's thigh, still panting. John was struggling to catch his breath. He sat up and pulled at Sherlock's upper arm. "Come up here with me."

Sherlock let John pull him up onto the couch and collapsed next to him. "Oh my God, John," he said, still panting.

John laughed breathlessly.

Sherlock laughed with him. "Had I known that changing my style of dress would have this effect on you, I'd have done it sooner."

John giggled, turning to look at Sherlock. "We smudged your eyeliner." Sherlock grinned and let his head fall back farther, closing his eyes. John continued more soberly. "Thank you for... trying to be quiet."

Sherlock opened his eyes, smiling at him tenderly. "Anything for _you_ , John." He put one still-trembling hand on John's cheek. " _Anything_."

John put his own unsteady hand over Sherlock's. "I love you so much, Sherlock."

"I love you, too." He leaned over and kissed John gently.

When Sherlock pulled back, John grinned. "Still want to go to the concert?"

Sherlock nodded. He grabbed John's arm and looked at his watch. "Not enough time to go to dinner, now, though." He grinned back at John.

"I've got a little food in the kitchen. I think I can manage a couple of sandwiches." He stood up slowly, not sure his legs would hold him yet. Sherlock giggled at him.

John clumsily rebuttoned his jeans and put his hand out. "Come on. You're going to help."

"I am?"

"You are." John extended his hand closer to Sherlock. "Let's go." Sherlock took his hand.

They managed to put themselves back together and get to the Uptown Theatre a few minutes before the show started. John was grateful they had taken the edge off before the concert, because _damn_. Sherlock was incredibly sexy, jumping and dancing right next to John. John could barely focus on the show, despite the spectacle that Iggy Pop was. He hardly took his eyes off of Sherlock. His mind was preoccupied with memories of the last couple of weeks.

John hadn't slept in his own bed since the first night they were together. He couldn't get enough of Sherlock. And Sherlock couldn't seem to get enough of John. But this wasn't just sex - although the sex was simultaneously the most intense and the most loving he'd ever experienced. John had never opened his heart to anyone the way he had to Sherlock. They talked about _everything_. They talked for countless hours, whether it was over a meal or tangled together Sherlock's bed. Sherlock hadn't just let John into his bed. He'd let John into his heart.

One of the nights that John thought about the most was the night he'd attended a Philharmonic concert for the second time. The music had been lovely, but the truly memorable part of that evening had been taking that fine tuxedo off of Sherlock piece by piece afterward.

John's hand moved to his own wrist, lightly touching the leather strap of Sherlock's watch. He smiled to himself, remembering the morning after his first night in Sherlock's bed. Sherlock had approached John as he was getting dressed, taking his hand. He had strapped his own watch to John's wrist, silencing John's protests with a firm kiss. "I want you to have it," he'd said. The look in his eyes had brooked no further objections. John had slipped his hands under his own collar and pulled out his dog tags. Sherlock had pulled back slightly. "I couldn't..." But when John had reached up and put them around Sherlock's neck, Sherlock had looked at him with unmasked adoration. He'd cradled John's dog tags in his hand for a moment before pressing them against his chest.

Since that moment, John had felt a surge of warmth in his heart every time he'd heard the faint clinking of the tags against each other when Sherlock moved or caught sight of the chain under Sherlock's collar.

Every time John opened Sherlock's shirt and found his dog tags there against Sherlock's chest, warmed by his body heat, John paused to touch them. In those moments, his heart felt so full he thought it might burst. The presence of his dog tags against Sherlock's chest and the now-familiar weight of Sherlock's watch on John's wrist were tangible reminders of their growing devotion to each other.

John kept Sherlock's watch on his wrist at every possible moment. He only took it off to shower, although sometimes Sherlock took it off of him in bed. John blushed slightly, thinking of the times Sherlock had taken the watch off and pressed his mouth to the inside of John's wrist.

When the show was over and John and Sherlock were back in the car, Sherlock turned to John. "That was a remarkable performance. What did you think, John?"

John smiled sheepishly. "To be honest, I could hardly pay attention."

Sherlock looked shocked. " _Hardly pay attention?_ To such an outrageous display?"

"Well, my medical side was distracted. He's risking a nasty infection injuring himself like that. And the rest of me was _even more_ distracted."

Sherlock still looked confused. "By what?"

" _You_ , Sherlock. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

Sherlock stared at him, speechless. His eyes widened as John leaned toward him.

"You'd better start this car and get us out of here, because I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep my _hands_ off of you."

Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, John could see the fire in Sherlock's eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock started the mustang. "Back to your flat?"

John leaned even closer. He heard Sherlock take a sharp breath. "Better make it yours. I have a feeling we're about to make a significant amount of noise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iggy Pop played the Uptown Theatre in Kansas City on October 26th, 1977. I moved the date a few weeks earlier to make it fit with a larger historical event in the story's timeline. (I beg for your forgiveness.)
> 
> Videos links:
> 
> Iggy Pop performing in Manchester  
> October, 1977
> 
> Trigger warning for self-harm on these. He doesn't harm himself in the videos, but he is bleeding.
> 
> The Passenger:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y4hPnZUMBwA
> 
> Lust for Life: 
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kD5X5OGLySI


	9. Chapter 9

Tuesday, September 6th, 1977

6:05pm

John handed Mr. Duncan's chart to Judy and walked around the corner. He froze in his tracks. Sherlock was in the main hallway, leaning against the wall. " _Sherlock!_ "

Sherlock smiled. "Doctor Watson."

John walked quickly toward him, heart pounding in his chest. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Sherlock's expression changed. "Nothing's wrong. Your shift is over at six, is it not?"

"Yes..." John looked around nervously.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm simply here to take you to dinner."

John took Sherlock's arm and led him down the hall, away from the ER. "I appreciate it, Sherlock, I really do. But... you can't be here. I'm sorry."

Sherlock was looking at him with a wounded expression now.

"I'm really sorry. It's just... you know I have to be careful."

The wounded expression was transforming into a glare.

"I can meet you outside in ten minutes."

Sherlock stopped walking. "You know what? Forget dinner. Go back to work."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Please, Sherlock. _Please_. Will you give me ten minutes? I'll come outside as soon as I can."

"I suppose I have ten minutes to decide, haven't I?"

" _Please_ , Sherlock. I'm sorry."

Sherlock turned and walked away.

John had no choice but to go back and wrap up his shift. He walked out of the hospital into the staff parking lot and saw Sherlock's Mustang parked next to his Vega. He stopped walking for a moment, realizing he'd been holding his breath. He steadied himself and approached the passenger side of Sherlock's car. He hesitated for a moment, then got in.

Sherlock was in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead.

John sighed. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's fine." Sherlock started the car.

They didn't talk much at dinner. John picked at his food. Sherlock didn't take a single bite. He sat with his arms crossed and looked out the window.

John put his fork down and spoke quietly. "Look, Sherlock, you have to understand. That hospital lives on gossip. The rumor mill is relentless."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders without uncrossing his arms. He didn't look at John. "Why do you care what they say?"

John sighed. "Because my career hangs in the balance, Sherlock." He looked down at his plate for a moment. "It took a long time to get back on my feet after my injury. If I lose my job, I'm back at square one."

Sherlock stared silently out the window.

"The hospital's board is very conservative, Sherlock. They won't keep me on if they find out. I've seen people fired for less."

"It's fine, John. I understand." Sherlock finally looked at him. "Are you done eating?"

John's throat felt tight. "Yeah."

Sherlock drove back to the hospital and parked near John's car. He turned to look at John, his expression blank.

John took a deep breath. "Will you... would you like to come over to my place?"

Sherlock turned away, staring out the windshield. "I'm a bit tired tonight."

John's chest hurt. He felt like his throat was closing up. He struggled to speak. "Can I call you tomorrow morning?"

Sherlock didn't move for a moment. Then he nodded slightly.

"Okay," John whispered. He got out of Sherlock's car and quickly got into his own car. As he watched Sherlock drive away, he realized he was shaking. He folded his arms on top of the steering wheel and dropped his forehead against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm so sorry. I'm posting the next chapter (chapter 10) immediately as a peace offering!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update this week due to chapter 9 being so short and so brutal! I hope you enjoy chapter 10. (I certainly enjoyed writing it!)

Wednesday, September 7th, 1977

8:10am

John sat at his kitchen table, staring at the phone on the wall. He'd barely slept, tearing himself apart for panicking when he saw Sherlock at the hospital. He rubbed his hands over his scratchy eyes and sighed. He felt nauseated.

John looked down at his wrist. He stroked his fingertips over Sherlock's watch. 8:10. Late enough that Sherlock will definitely be awake, early enough that he won't have left for work yet. John steeled himself and got to his feet.

Sherlock's phone rang three times. Four. Five. _Come on, Sherlock_. Six.

"Hello."

"Sherlock."

"John."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

"John... _I'm_ sorry. I was too hard on you last night."

"No..."

"Yes. I understand why you were worried. I shouldn't have shown up unannounced."

"Oh, God, Sherlock. I _hate_ this. You wanted to surprise me. You were so sweet. And I freaked out and told you to leave. _I'm so sorry_."

" _John_. I know. I understand. It took me a few hours to calm down. At first I felt... rejected. Like you didn't want anyone to know we were together because you were... ashamed of me."

John let out a strangled noise. " _Never_. I could _never_ be ashamed of you. You're the most incredible man I've ever met. I wish I could tell the _whole world_ that for some unfathomable reason, you love me."

"You're rather remarkable yourself, John. I love you more than I can say."

John felt his anxiety falling away. "I love you so much, Sherlock."

"Are you free tonight, John?"

"I'm all yours if you'll have me."

John could almost _hear_ Sherlock smiling. "Good."

John smiled into the phone. "I want to cook dinner for you tonight. That way I get you all to myself. I could even kiss you right at the dinner table."

Sherlock pitched his voice lower. "I might let you do more than kiss me, John."

John felt a surge of heat through his entire body. "God, _yes_."

"When should I be there?"

"Seven."

When they hung up, John slumped against the wall in relief.

  
6:55pm

The spatula clattered onto the counter. John walked quickly to the door, barely managing for decency's sake not to run.

He let Sherlock in and shut the door behind him. He was swept into a tight embrace as soon as he had the door locked. John held on to Sherlock for a long time, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock rested his cheek on top of John's head.

"I missed you terribly," John whispered.

Sherlock squeezed him a little tighter. "And I you."

John pulled back reluctantly. "Dinner's almost ready. Come on."

He kissed Sherlock lightly, took his hand, and led him into the kitchen. He picked up his spatula and checked the pork chops in the pan. Nearly done. He set the spatula down, turned back toward Sherlock, and leaned against the counter. "How was rehearsal today?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. How was your shift?"

"Relatively uneventful. Which, in an ER, is good."

Sherlock stepped closer to John, looking intently into his eyes. John took a sharp breath and instinctively stood up straighter, pushing his shoulders back slightly.

Sherlock moved into John's space. His eyes were smoky gray in the light filtering through the kitchen window. He lifted one graceful hand to John's cheek, pushing his fingertips into John's hair.

John could feel his heart rate increasing. His eyes fluttered closed. Sherlock was so close that John could feel his body heat. He tilted his face up when he sensed Sherlock bending downward, anticipating the press of Sherlock's lips against his own.

John gasped when he felt Sherlock's mouth on his neck instead. He tilted his head against Sherlock's hand to better expose his neck to Sherlock's attention. He put a hand to the back of Sherlock's head, tangling his fingers in his hair.

Sherlock sighed against John's neck and dragged his tongue from just over John's collar to the hinge of his jaw. His other hand grasped John's waist. John let out a choked-off moan and tightened his fingers in Sherlock's hair. He heard Sherlock's breath hitch.

John opened his eyes and reached for the stove. He turned the burner and the oven off. He then put his hands on Sherlock's chest and pushed him back gently. Sherlock straightened up, looking slightly disappointed. John took both of Sherlock's hands in his, lifting them away from his body. Sherlock's face was clouding over. John stepped around Sherlock and turned them both around. He started walking backward, pulling Sherlock by both hands.

Sherlock's face brightened immediately. "Where are we going?"

"Bedroom. _Now_." John let go of one of Sherlock's hands so he could turn forward and drag Sherlock along faster.

Sherlock laughed quietly behind John. When they reached the bedroom, he yanked John back by his hand, capturing him in a scorching kiss.

They pulled at each other's clothes, giggling as they nearly knocked each other down in their haste. When they had cast their clothes aside, they tumbled into John's bed together.

John put his hand around his dog tags. Sherlock moved over him, holding himself up with both arms. John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and let go of the tags. They fell onto his own chest as he wrapped one arm around Sherlock's waist. He put his other hand in Sherlock's hair and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

John deliberately slowed Sherlock down. He stroked Sherlock's back and kept his hips still. Sherlock followed John's lead, relaxing his body. He was warm and heavy on top of John.

When John was sure Sherlock was relaxed, he rolled him onto his back and crawled over him. Sherlock looked up at him with heat and adoration in his eyes. His hands had fallen back onto the pillow on either side of his head. _Perfect_.

John leaned onto his right arm. With his left hand, he took Sherlock's right hand, raised it above Sherlock's head and wrapped Sherlock's fingers around one of the headboard's balusters. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Don't let go," John said quietly. Sherlock gripped the baluster, his mouth falling open slightly. John reached over for Sherlock's left hand and guided it to another baluster.

He sat back, straddling Sherlock's thighs, and took a moment to look. Sherlock was stretched out between the headboard and John, wearing nothing but John's dog tags. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes burning with arousal.

"Beautiful," John murmured as he bent back down. He started at Sherlock's collarbone, slowly working over Sherlock's skin with his mouth and his fingertips. Sherlock shuddered as John moved over his upper body, gradually making his way downward.

John lingered over each of Sherlock's nipples, appreciating the whimpers he was drawing out of the gorgeous man in his bed. He felt Sherlock's hand fall against the back of his head, fingers pushing into his hair. John pulled back an inch and held still. He didn't budge when Sherlock's hand pressed down on his head. Sherlock groaned in frustration.

The weight on John's head lifted. John looked up as Sherlock grasped the baluster again. _Yes_. He smiled wolfishly at the defiant spark in Sherlock's eyes and lowered his head. Sherlock gasped as John swirled his tongue.

As he moved lower, John shifted to kneel beside Sherlock's legs. He licked at Sherlock's stomach, smiling when the muscles twitched under his mouth. He looked up at Sherlock's face.

Sherlock had turned his head so it rested against his upper arm. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open as he gasped for breath. He'd surrendered to John _beautifully_.

John continued kissing Sherlock's stomach. As he moved lower, Sherlock's body tensed in anticipation. Sherlock moaned desperately. "John, _John, please_." Then Sherlock's hand was on John's head again, urging him lower.

John smiled wickedly and sat up. Sherlock huffed out an impatient whimper as John slipped out of his grasp. He pushed his legs back and forth for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. He grabbed the baluster again with more force than was strictly necessary and gave John a pleading look.

John reached for the leg next to him, putting one hand under Sherlock's knee and one under his ankle. He lifted Sherlock's leg up and started a line of kisses on his shin.

Sherlock let out a loud, exasperated whine.

"Shhh." John rubbed Sherlock's thigh soothingly.

"You're a cruel man, John Watson." Sherlock was glaring at him now, but he hadn't let go of the balusters.

John chuckled. "You won't be saying that later."

Sherlock groaned in frustration and let his head drop back against his arm. John moved on to Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock gradually relaxed.

John moved higher. As he reached the inside of Sherlock's hip, he could feel Sherlock trembling with anticipation.

" _Please_." Sherlock's eyes were closed. His head was tipped back on the pillow. " _Please_ , John."

John finally grasped Sherlock's cock gently and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of the head. Sherlock sobbed in pleasure and relief. John took the head into his mouth and stroked it with his tongue. He moved his other hand to Sherlock's balls.

Sherlock moaned quietly. "John, John, _John_."

Soon Sherlock's whole body was tensing up as he neared his peak. John focused on his breathing as his own arousal threatened to overtake him before he could complete his plan. When John felt Sherlock get harder against his tongue, he pulled off.

Sherlock growled loudly. He smacked both hands against the mattress and lifted his head to glare forcefully at John. " _I will get you for this, John Watson_."

John met Sherlock's stare. "I'm counting on it."

Sherlock growled again and grabbed the balusters roughly. John swung his leg over to straddle Sherlock's upper thighs. He put his right hand on the mattress next to Sherlock's ribs and leaned forward. He raised his left hand to his mouth and licked at it.

Sherlock watched John with fire in his eyes, his frustration melting away. John adjusted his hips so his cock rested against Sherlock's and reached down. As John's hand closed around both of them, Sherlock's eyes closed. "Oh, _God_ , John," he groaned.

John lowered his head and claimed Sherlock's mouth in a desperately passionate kiss. He rolled his hips gently, dragging his cock against Sherlock's. _Oh, God, that's good_.

Sherlock's whole body was reacting. He gasped for breath against John's mouth as his body tensed up, straining against the balusters. John increased the speed of his thrusts and tightened his hand.

Sherlock thrashed under John as he began coming. He broke away from the kiss, crying out loudly and uncontrollably. John held out as long as he could, watching Sherlock shake and shudder and cry through his orgasm, before coming so hard himself that he collapsed onto Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock's cries had devolved into whimpers. He continued to shiver intermittently under John. John shifted his weight to Sherlock's side so he wouldn't get too heavy on his chest. Sherlock's hands fell away from the balusters to rest limply against the pillow.

Sherlock's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes remained closed. John took each of Sherlock's arms and moved them down, one at Sherlock's side and the other draped over John.

John closed his eyes for a few minutes as he recovered. Sherlock dropped off to sleep, but John forced himself up to get a washcloth.

Sherlock briefly opened his eyes as John cleaned him up. He moaned quietly. "You've killed me, John. I've never come so hard in my life."

"You're welcome."

"I'm still going to _get_ you, John. Mark my words."

"I look forward to it."

John went back into the bathroom. Sherlock had made quite a lot of noise. John knew he couldn't really hold Sherlock responsible this time, but it did worry him.

He went back to the bedroom, grinning at the sight of Sherlock splayed across his bed. John pulled his underwear on and went to the kitchen to see if any of the food he'd been cooking was salvageable. He took the macaroni and cheese out of the oven and set it next to the pork chops. Everything looked dried out and overcooked. He poked at the food with his spatula and decided it was too far gone.

Sherlock appeared in the doorway. He hadn't bothered to put anything on. John's dog tags rested against his chest. "Looks like the salad survived," he said, gesturing at the bowl on the table.

John poked at the macaroni again. "That's all, though. These are ruined."

Sherlock smirked at him. "It's your own fault, you know."

John turned to face him. He pointed his spatula at Sherlock. "Oh, no. I'm not taking the blame for this."

Sherlock stood up straighter, managing to project affronted dignity even in his debauched state. "You dragged me into the bedroom!"

"After you _licked_ my _neck_. What did you think would happen?"

Sherlock giggled and slumped back down, leaning against the doorjamb. "I was hoping you'd attack me. And you did not disappoint."

John laughed. "Glad I could be of service." He tossed the spatula onto the counter. "Get in here. You're helping me make the sandwiches."


	11. Chapter 11

Saturday, September 10th, 1977

7:45am

John was still sweating heavily from his morning jog as he rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. He let himself into Sherlock's apartment and tossed his key onto the entryway table.

He began shedding his clothes as he walked to the bathroom. While he was waiting for the shower to warm up, he thought about taking Sherlock out to lunch, hoping Sherlock would be back in time to eat before John's 2:00pm shift at the hospital.

Sherlock had looked like he was settling in for a lengthy observation of Loose Park's bees when John had jogged past him. John smiled, remembering how beautiful Sherlock had looked in the early morning sunlight, a little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows.

He stepped under the warm water and closed the glass shower door, sighing when the water hit his chest. As he closed his eyes to shampoo his hair, images of Sherlock filled John's mind. Sherlock in the rose garden with the sun catching in his hair. Sherlock practicing his violin next to his apartment window. Sherlock in his tuxedo, commanding the violin section. Sherlock lying on his back, eyes burning into John's, cheeks flushed with arousal.

John shuddered as heat surged through his body.

Sherlock sitting astride John's thighs, leaning down to capture John's mouth with his own.

John's mouth fell open, a low groan escaping him as a heavy throb of arousal rushed down between his legs. He finished rinsing his hair and opened his eyes. 

The bathroom door was opening slowly. Cold fear clutched at John's chest. A tall, pale, dark-haired figure walked in silently. _Sherlock_. John slumped in relief. _I wonder why he's back so soon_. John watched as the subject of his fantasy closed the door and efficiently stripped his clothes off, folding each article neatly.

Sherlock opened the shower door and stepped in. John grinned widely. "Hi."

"Hello, John." John moved aside as Sherlock tipped his head back under the shower spray. When Sherlock straightened up, he ran his hands over his hair to push the excess water out.

John watched him intently, deeply appreciating the play of Sherlock's muscles and tendons under his pale skin as he moved. "I'm glad you're back. I thought you'd be at the park for ages. You were so wrapped up in observing the bees that you didn't even look at me when I jogged through the rose garden."

Sherlock leaned toward John as a dirty little grin crossed his face. "Wrong. I didn't let you _see_ me watching you. But let me assure you, _I was watching_." Sherlock crowded John against the tiles, putting his hands on the wall either side of John's head. He leaned close to John's ear and spoke in a gruff whisper. "Do you have any idea how you look when you run? Your sweat-soaked clothes cling to you. Every muscle in your body flexes and releases. I've never seen anything sexier. You drive me _mad_."

John's eyes closed as his mouth fell open. He gasped when he felt Sherlock drag his tongue from John's collarbone to his ear.

Sherlock bit John's earlobe lightly before pulling back. "I heard you, you know."

John opened his eyes, confused. "What?"

"I heard you moan. Before I came in." Sherlock leaned in, lowering his voice again. "Were you touching yourself?"

"No!" John denied instinctively. Sherlock pulled back and looked him in the eye. John felt his cheeks flushing pink. "Well... not yet."

Sherlock smirked. "What were you thinking about?"

John slid his arms around Sherlock's waist. "You, Sherlock. Always you. Only you." He pulled their bodies together. "I was thinking about the way you looked last night. The way you felt."

Sherlock melted against him. " _John_." He tipped his head down and pressed his mouth against John's. John immediately yielded, relaxing against the tiles and opening his mouth. Sherlock pressed in, pinning John to the wall with his body and kissing him deeply.

Sherlock kissed John for several minutes, his hands still on the wall to cage John in. John stroked his hands over Sherlock's back, then pushed them down grip his ass. Just when John was certain he couldn't take any more, Sherlock dragged his mouth down John's neck. John gasped for air as Sherlock nipped at his collarbone.

Sherlock worked his way down John's chest agonizingly slowly as John gasped for breath and clutched at Sherlock's hair with both hands. Sherlock spent an extravagant amount of time teasing each nipple. When the water began to cool, he reached out and shut it off. He pulled up to his full height and stared heatedly into John's eyes before lowering himself onto his knees.

John's head tipped back against the tiles. He groaned loudly. "Oh, God, _Sherlock_." He put his hands out against the wall, suddenly concerned about his ability to stay on his feet. Sherlock ran his hands over John's hips, thighs, and belly. Everywhere except where John _really_ wanted Sherlock to touch him.

John whimpered when he felt Sherlock lean forward. Sherlock's mouth was hot and wet on John's hip. John shuddered with anticipation. Finally, _finally_ , Sherlock grasped John's aching cock and licked a broad stripe across the head. John cried out in relief. Sherlock took John fully into his mouth. John put both hands back into Sherlock's hair and was rewarded with a moan around his cock. As John clenched his fists in the wet curls, he felt Sherlock put his hands on John's hips and go pliant.

"Oh, Sherlock, yes, _yes!_ " John began to gently rock his hips. Sherlock's fingers tightened, pressing into John's flesh. "Oh my God, Sherlock, you're incredible!" He allowed himself to thrust harder. "I love you so much, you beautiful man." His movements became irregular as he rushed toward climax. "Oh, _God_ , Sherlock..."

Suddenly, Sherlock pinned John's hips to the wall. He pulled off quickly and wrapped his fingers tightly around the base of John's cock.

John gasped in shock. " _Fuck!_ " He looked down at Sherlock and let out an anguished whimper. "What are you doing?" He released Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock was staring up at John with a wicked smile on his face. "You know _exactly_ what I'm doing, John." He released John's cock and sat back on his heels. "Or did you think you'd gotten away with it?"

"Oh my God," John sighed weakly. _Holy shit, this is going to kill me_. "Okay. You got me." John trembled against the wall, knees weak.

Sherlock laughed. He stood up slowly and leaned in close to John's ear. He lowered his voice. "You're not getting away that easily, John. I'm nowhere near done with you. I promised you I was going to _get_ you, and I intend to follow through on that promise."

John closed his eyes and whined. Sherlock nipped at John's neck. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling their bodies together roughly, desperate for friction. Then he growled in frustration. Sherlock had abandoned his habit of bending his knees when pressing against John to compensate for their height difference. The result was Sherlock's cock pushing insistently against John's belly, and John getting no friction at all. John tried for a moment to pull Sherlock lower, but Sherlock wasn't cooperating.

"Sherlock!" he complained.

"Patience, John." Sherlock rolled his hips, groaning in pleasure. "All in good time."

John growled again.

Sherlock finally bent his knees, dragging his cock down John's belly until it met John's. John shuddered and let out a sob of relief. Sherlock reclaimed John's mouth with his own as he began to roll his hips purposefully. John was gasping for breath. He clutched at Sherlock's shoulders, trying to keep him down where John wanted him. He was almost there, almost there.

Sherlock pulled back, grabbing John's hips and pinning them to the wall when he tried to follow. John whimpered loudly. He glared at Sherlock. Sherlock held John against the wall firmly. He was panting and trembling, clearly aroused almost as helplessly as John was.

John struggled to speak. " _Please_." If Sherlock wanted him to beg, so be it. " _Please_ , Sherlock."

Sherlock shuddered. He took a shaky breath and stared heatedly into John's eyes. He surged forward, kissing John hard and sliding his hand from John's hip to his aching cock. John sobbed uncontrollably against Sherlock's mouth, overwhelmed with pleasure as Sherlock stroked him steadily.

John's vision whited out as his orgasm overtook him. He cried out loudly, his whole body convulsing as he came. Sherlock caught him under his arms as his legs gave out.

As John began to come back to himself, Sherlock was shifting him, propping him up between Sherlock's left shoulder and the wall. Sherlock reached down to stroke himself with his right hand. He shuddered and groaned brokenly as he came almost immediately. He was trembling with the effort of holding both of them up.

John was still drifting, but he began to shift his weight back onto his own feet. He and Sherlock were both trying to catch their breath. They stood leaning together against the wall for several minutes before either of them attempted to move.

Sherlock finally took half a step back. He looked dazed, his hair riotous. John chuckled breathlessly. "We should probably call a truce before one of us actually kills the other."

Sherlock giggled weakly. "That may be for the best." He looked down at their bodies. "John."

"Hmm?"

"We need a shower."


	12. Chapter 12

Sunday, September 11th, 1977

11:45am

John's mother gave him a quick one-armed hug as he stepped through the door. "It's good to see you, John. Here, put these on the table for me. I've got to check the roast." She gave him a handful of silverware and disappeared into the kitchen.

John walked into the dining room. There were five plates on the table. "Who's coming over?" he called out. "I thought it was just me and Harry."

"My friend Linda."

 _Oh, God. Not this again_. "And who else?"

Silence.

John sighed heavily. _I should have known_. He finished setting the table and went to the kitchen. "Linda's daughter, I suppose?"

She turned to face John. "Clara. She's a lovely girl. And very smart."

"We talked about this, Mom."

" _Please_ , John! Just give her a chance. You're my only hope for grandchildren! It's too late for your sister!"

" _Mom!_ Harry's 39, not 100." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "You've got to stop doing this. If I get married, I'll do it when I'm ready."

" _If?_ " she squeaked.

John didn't respond. He picked the bread up and took it to the dining room. The doorbell rang. He stood listening to his mother chatting excitedly with her friend for a minute. He sighed. _Might as well get it over with_. He went to the living room.

His mother grabbed his arm. "Oh! John! This is Linda and her daughter Clara."

Clara smiled sheepishly at John. She put out her hand. "Nice to meet you, John." Her honey brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders.

John shook her hand. "You, too, Clara."

John's mother grabbed Linda and dragged her to the kitchen, whispering to her animatedly.

Clara leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Could they be any more obvious?"

John laughed. "Not really."

"Do you prefer May or June?"

John's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

"For our wedding. May or June?"

John froze.

" _John_. I'm joking!"

John felt his shoulders drop in relief. " _Oh_..." _Thank God_.

"I can't believe you thought I was serious!"

"If you'd met some of the women my mother's set me up with over the years, you'd know why I couldn't be sure."

" _Please_. You should see the mouth-breathers my mother brings home for me."

John giggled. "I should be up front with you, Clara. I'm not looking to date anyone right now."

Clara smiled. "That's fine, John, because neither am I."

John smiled back. "Let's just relax, then. Come sit down." He led Clara to a chair and sat on the couch near her.

The doorbell rang again. John heard his mother rush to answer it.

John and Clara had just begun chatting about the weather when Clara went still. John watched as her eyes went wide and her breath caught. She was looking past John's shoulder. John turned and saw Harry in the doorway, standing motionless. She was looking at Clara with an expression of pure wonder.

John turned back to Clara. "Have you and Harry met before?"

Clara didn't seem to have heard him. He grinned and lightly touched her arm. "Clara?"

Clara twitched. Her eyes darted to John for a split second before she resumed staring at Harry. "Hmm?"

John grinned harder. "Clara, have you met my sister Harry?"

She glanced at him again. "Um. No, I haven't."

John turned to Harry. "Harry, come sit next to me." He scooted away from Clara and gestured at the seat closest to her.

Harry blinked and finally moved. She sat between John and Clara.

"Harry, this is Clara." John stood up. "I'll just... go see if Mom needs help with the roast." Neither of the two women looked at him. John suppressed a giggle and went to the dining room so his mother wouldn't see him and shove him back into the living room. _That was incredible to witness_. He put his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. _I wish Sherlock had been here to see that_.

John's mother and Linda came in, both holding platters of food. "John! What are you doing in here?"

"Just checking the table. Do you need any help?"

Lunch was quite a balancing act. John did his best to convince his mother and Linda that Clara and he were interested in each other and distract them from the sparks that were flying between Clara and Harry.

After lunch was over, Harry was expected to go to the kitchen to clean with her mother and Linda. John played along briefly, taking Clara back to the living room. He leaned close. "I'm going to go tell Mom that Harry looks pale and needs to come sit in here with you instead of wash dishes."

Clara grinned widely at him and nodded. "Thank you, John."

John managed to get Harry out of the kitchen, but his mother wouldn't let him take Harry's place. After she'd hustled him back into the living room, John sat on the far end of the couch and watched Harry talk animatedly with Clara. _I've never seen her so happy. She's practically glowing_. He looked down at his wrist, tracing his fingers over Sherlock's watch. _God, I miss Sherlock_.

When Linda and Clara were leaving, John asked for Clara's phone number. As he wrote it down, John's mother and Linda shared an excited look behind Clara's back. John left shortly afterward, discreetly putting Clara's number into Harry's hand. Harry hugged him tightly, whispering her thanks into his ear.

6:15pm

John watched the cars passing by the window. His heart leaped when he saw the black Mustang flash by. He turned his attention to the restaurant's doorway until Sherlock appeared. Sherlock's face lit up when he spotted John. He crossed the restaurant quickly and sat opposite him. The sunlight coming through the window caught in Sherlock's eyes, making them glow a warm jade green. As he leaned down to set his violin next to his chair, his white shirt stretched tightly across his chest. He'd already cast off his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned his collar. They'd only been apart for a matter of hours, but John was nearly overwhelmed with the need to pull Sherlock into his arms and kiss him senseless. Sherlock looked knowingly into John's eyes, one corner of his mouth turning upward. _He always seems to know exactly what I'm thinking_.

Sherlock leaned onto the table. "Hello, John."

"Sherlock." John leaned onto the table, mirroring him. "How was the concert?"

"Fine. How was lunch at your mother's?"

John grinned at him. "Something quite extraordinary happened, actually. I wish you'd been there to see it."

"Oh?"

"My sister fell in love at first sight. She looked like she'd been struck by lightning. It was incredible."

"With whom did she fall in love? I thought it was just the two of you and your mother today."

"That's what I thought, too, but it turned out Mom had a friend and her daughter Clara over. Clara and Harry couldn't take their eyes off each other."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "You never told me your sister is a lesbian."

"I didn't know for sure until today."

"These surprise guests - your mother was setting _you_ up with Clara, yes?"

"Yes." John rolled his eyes with a quiet groan. "I've told her a million times to stop setting me up, but it's no use."

Sherlock had gone still, staring down at the table.

John leaned closer. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath. He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, letting the breath out slowly.

John waited.

Sherlock lowered his head and looked at John. "This will never stop, will it?"

"What, Mom setting me up?"

"It won't stop until you marry one of them."

John could see anguish in Sherlock's eyes. "Sherlock, you know I won't do that. You _know_ I won't."

Sherlock looked out the window. "Do I?"

" _Yes!_ " John dropped his hand a little too hard on the table, rattling the silverware.

Sherlock looked at John again. "Then tell your mother you won't keep meeting these women."

" _I have_." John scrubbed his hand over his face. "She won't listen."

" _She will if you tell her why_." Sherlock's gaze was hard now.

John sighed. "I would love to, Sherlock, I really would. I wanted you there with me today. So badly. But you know I can't tell her about... this. Us. You have to understand."

"No, John. I don't."

John kept his voice quiet. "Sherlock, _please_. If I... come out... she'll disown me."

Sherlock leaned across the table. "If this is a woman who would disown her only son, why do you care so much?"

Johns chest tightened. "God damn it, Sherlock, she's my _mother_. That's why."

"And you're her _son_."

John went still as the waiter approached their table to take their drink order. When the waiter was gone, Sherlock sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window again in stony silence.

John leaned over the table. "Sherlock, this isn't easy for me, either. I _hate_ it. But I can't lose my job and my family."

Sherlock didn't move. 

" _Sherlock_." John's heart thudded in his chest.

Sherlock turned back to John, eyes blazing with anger and pain. "Of course, John. How foolish of me." His voice was growing louder. "How very foolish of me to think I could rely on you to make our relationship a priority."

John saw the other diners begin to look in his direction. Fear shot through his chest. " _Sherlock!_ " he hissed.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open in shock. He shoved his chair back and stood, glaring at John. His eyes were nearly glowing. "And now you're too concerned about what these _strangers_ think to even talk to me!" 

John's chest tightened painfully. " _No_ , Sherlock, that's _not true!_ " he insisted quietly.

Sherlock bent to pick up his violin and spun on his heel. He was out the door by the time John was able to stumble to his feet. 

John couldn't breathe. He struggled to pull his wallet out of his pocket with shaking hands and threw some cash onto the table for the drinks they'd ordered. 

He walked briskly toward the door. The waiter was leaning against a pillar. As John passed him, he spoke, his tone scornful. "Better hurry. Your _boyfriend's_ getting away." 

John halted. He turned back to see the waiter leering at him. John squared his shoulders and walked directly into the waiter's space, gratified when the man tensed up and recoiled into the pillar at John's approach. 

John could feel white-hot anger blazing from his eyes as he crowded the man against the pillar, as close as he could get without touching him. " _Go fuck yourself_ ," John growled. He turned and rushed through the door, refusing to waste another second looking at the sneer on that prick's face. Sherlock's Mustang flew past him as he ran out onto the sidewalk. " _Damn it!_ " John shouted.

John ran to his car and drove to Sherlock's apartment building as quickly as he dared. He took the elevator to the basement first, sighing in relief when he saw Sherlock's car in its spot. He pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

John knocked repeatedly on Sherlock's door, to no avail. He let his forehead fall against the door with a thump. "Sherlock!" he shouted. "I know you're in there. I saw your car in the basement. Open the door!"

Silence.

"Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry, okay? Let me in so we can talk about this."

John waited.

John lifted his head a couple of inches and let it thump back down onto the door. "Sherlock, _please_. Let me in."

" _Go away!_ " Sherlock shouted from the other side of the door, his voice breaking.

John closed his eyes, willing the tears not to fall. He stood with his forehead against the door for several minutes. He considered using his key, but ultimately decided to give Sherlock his space.

11:45pm

John looked up at Sherlock's window and sighed deeply. Lightning streaked across the sky to the west. _Great_. He was going to have to get off the roof, no matter how sick he was of pacing his apartment.

He looked at Sherlock's window for another moment. The wind was picking up. John turned and went back down to the ground floor. He went to his kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed Sherlock's number. Sherlock wasn't answering. John let it ring. Fifteen rings. _Pick it up, Sherlock_. Sixteen, seventeen. Then the line connected.

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock hung up forcefully.

John growled. He dialed Sherlock's number again. Busy. He waited a minute and tried again. Still busy. _He's got it off the hook_. John slammed the receiver down and stalked out of the kitchen.

He threw himself diagonally across his bed, rolling onto his back. _He'll come around_ , John tried to convince himself, staring up at the crack in the ceiling. _He'll understand. He has to_.

John put the heels of his hands over his eyes. After a few moments, he forced himself to get up so he could get into bed properly. He put on an old t-shirt and turned out the light.

John laid in bed quietly, absently stroking his fingers over Sherlock's watch. Flashes of lightning filled the room intermittently with harsh light. The answering thunder sounded closer each time it occurred. Large raindrops began to fall against the window. John listened as the rain grew steadier. He shook his head and sighed. _A thunderstorm. What a fucking cliché_. He put his pillow over his head and fell into a fitful sleep as the rain pounded at the window.


	13. Chapter 13

Monday, September 12th, 1977

3:05pm

John knocked loudly on Sherlock's door. He was at his wits' end, having tried several times throughout the day to call Sherlock only to get a busy signal.

John knocked again. "Sherlock! Open this door!"

Silence.

"At least let me know you're all right. _Please_."

The door at the other end of the hall opened. John turned to see a small, older woman. _Mrs. Hudson_. Sherlock had told John how kind she'd been to him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am," he said, chastened. "I've been worried about him."

"Sherlock'll be all right, dear. I'll check on him later."

"Thank you." John walked toward her. "You must be Mrs. Hudson. I'm John Watson. It's nice to meet you." He held out his hand.

She took his hand in both of hers. "It's good to finally meet you, too, dear." She patted the top of his hand before letting go. "Don't you worry, now, he'll come around."

John smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson's attention drifted past John's shoulder. John turned quickly to see Sherlock standing in his doorway. He was in his blue silk robe, a worn gray t-shirt, and threadbare pajama pants. He was even paler than usual, his hair was a disaster, and he looked like he hadn't slept at all. John felt a fresh spike of pain in his heart.

John stood frozen, afraid to move or speak, watching Sherlock. Sherlock returned his gaze for a few seconds before backing up and taking hold of the door.

"Wait!" John cried, reaching his arm out. But Sherlock had already slammed the door. It was all John could do to keep from crumpling to the floor.

He felt a hand on his forearm. "Don't fret, dear. He just needs some time."

John lifted his chin a little to look at Mrs. Hudson. _How much does she know?_

"He adores you. I'll talk to him. He'll come around."

 _Apparently she knows everything_. John managed to push the words "thank you" past the lump in his throat.

"Go on home, now, dear. It'll be all right."

He nodded weakly and headed for the elevator. He focused hard on keeping his composure as he drove home.

John slammed his car door and headed toward his building. He stopped short as his left foot sank into the saturated ground. "Damn it!" John pulled his foot out of the muddy hole he'd created. "Oh, that's just _perfect_." Water began seeping up out of the ground, filling the hole. John kept walking. He pulled his shoe off as he reached the door of his apartment.

After he'd cleaned his shoe, John dropped onto his couch and draped his arm over his eyes. He was exhausted. He drifted into an uneasy sleep.

5:15pm

The phone startled John awake. He scrambled clumsily off the couch and rushed to the kitchen. He snatched the phone off the hook. "Sherlock?"

The voice on the other end sounded confused. "John? It's Sarah."

John sagged against the fridge in disappointment. "Yeah. Hi. Sorry."

"I'm sorry to bother you, John, but Ken called in sick. Can you cover his shift tonight?"

John rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. No problem." _Not like I've got anything better to do, anyway_ , he thought bitterly. "What time do you need me there?"

"As soon as you can. Thank you, John. I owe you."

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there in ten minutes."

John splashed some water on his face and walked out to his car, staying on the cement this time. He turned the key. Nothing. He tried to start the Vega for the better part of ten minutes before giving up. He got out, kicking the door so hard he dented it. "Piece of shit!"

He stomped back into his apartment and called Sarah to tell her it would take him longer to arrive now that he had to walk. He hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. He picked it back up and dialed Sherlock's number. Busy signal. John slammed the receiver onto the hook and walked out.

9:15pm

Heavy rain lashed against the windows. The ER staff was on edge. They'd heard reports of flooding all over the city. Thousands of people were stuck at Royals stadium, their cars stalling in the rapidly rising water in the parking lot. John could see the street outside the ER's window filling up with rain. He ducked behind the nurses' station and grabbed the phone, dialing Sherlock's number. He sighed in relief when he didn't get a busy signal. _It's ringing. He's put it back on the hook!_ But John's relief was short-lived as it continued ringing. _Come on, pick up, Sherlock!_ He let it ring twenty times, dread pooling in his stomach. _Where are you? You need to stay in that twelfth-floor apartment. High above the creek._

John dropped the receiver back onto the hook. _Maybe he's in Mrs. Hudson's apartment. Please, Sherlock, be in Mrs. Hudson's apartment_. John started opening drawers, searching for a phone book.

"Doctor Watson!" Judy called as the paramedics rushed a patient through the doors. He slammed the drawers shut and jumped up.

Brush creek overflowed its banks quickly and viciously. People all over the Plaza were caught in it. Cars were swept up. Windows were shattered under the weight of the water. Basements and underground parking garages filled rapidly. Shops, restaurants, and homes were inundated.

Over the next three hours John treated a succession of soaking-wet patients. One had a deep cut to his leg which he'd sustained while wading through waist-deep water. Another had nearly drowned when her car stalled. John stitched up a man who'd been standing too close to his front window when it gave way. The pit of his stomach ached with worry for Sherlock, but the patients kept coming through the door. John kept his head down and took care of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Plaza flood of 1977 was a real event. If you'd like more information, a local TV news report (KMBC 9) from the week of the flood is available on YouTube:
> 
> Part 1:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=V_ew2bEKxw4
> 
> Part 2:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=PvMlsKhJsng
> 
> Part 3:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=MOmfa33Vjgs
> 
> Part 4:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BphPu6xvlzI


	14. Chapter 14

Tuesday, September 13th, 1977

12:25am

The surge of patients had begun to abate. John was finishing his notes on Mrs. Henderson's chart when he heard it.

" _Get your hands off me! I have to find John!_ "

John dimly registered the sound of Mrs. Henderson's chart clattering to the floor as he sprinted down the hall. He rounded the corner and made eye contact with Sherlock. He was at the other end of the ER, thrashing against the grip two large police officers had on him.

John kept running at full speed. " _Sherlock!_ "

When Sherlock saw John, he froze for half a second before wrenching himself free in a sudden burst of strength. " _John!_ " He shot forward.

John and Sherlock crashed together, clutching at each other. Sherlock was drenched, his skin cold to the touch. He wrapped himself tightly around John. The two police officers had run after him. They stopped behind Sherlock, looking slightly shocked.

John pushed Sherlock back to look at him. Blood ran freely down his temple, mingling with the floodwater. John's hands immediately went to Sherlock's scalp, checking the severity of the damage. He frantically looked Sherlock over. "Where else are you hurt?"

Sherlock was going limp. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"No, you're not!" John wrapped his arms back around Sherlock and looked to the police officers. "What happened? Where did you find him?"

Joe answered, "We pulled him out of the water. He was hanging on to a tree near 48th and Rockhill. We had a devil of a time getting him here. He fought like a wildcat. Kept saying he had to find John." Joe broke into a grin. "Sure would have been a hell of a lot easier bringing him in if we'd known he meant you, Doctor Watson."

John's blood ran cold. _48th and Rockhill. Just downstream from my apartment_. "Thank you, Joe," John managed to croak out. He turned to the other officer. "You, too, Sam. Thank you _so much_. Be careful out there, okay?"

"You got it, Doc," said Sam. He and Joe shared a raised-eyebrows look and retreated.

Sherlock tensed up in John's arms. He pulled back stiffly. "John, your co-workers," he whispered. "They're looking."

John glanced around. Sherlock was right. Most of the ER staff was staring incredulously, not even pretending to work. John met Sherlock's eyes. "I don't give a rat's ass," he growled as he pulled Sherlock back into his arms. He felt Sherlock gasp slightly and melt against him.

John could feel Sherlock shivering. He pulled back slightly. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get you taken care of." He led Sherlock down the hall, one arm around his waist. John's co-workers gaped at them as they passed. He got Sherlock into an exam room. "Wait here a second," he said gently. He quickly retrieved a towel, two patient gowns, and a blanket, ignoring his stunned co-workers.

John efficiently stripped Sherlock's dripping clothes off of him. As he dried him off, John swallowed hard at the sight of his dog tags against Sherlock's chest. _He could have died with my dog tags on. Oh, dear God, I almost lost him_. Sherlock had scratches all over his body, but John was relieved to see no significant injuries other than the cut on his temple. He dressed Sherlock in both gowns, putting the second one on back-to-front. He then settled him on the bed and tucked the blanket around him. He rubbed at Sherlock's arms and legs to help him warm up. Blood was still trickling from Sherlock's temple. "Don't move, okay? I'll be right back." Sherlock nodded.

John went out to grab supplies to stitch Sherlock up.

"Who is that?"

John turned reluctantly and saw Judy behind him. "Sherlock Holmes."

"And he's your... special friend?" Judy's smile was cold.

"I don't have time for this now." John walked away quickly, doing his best to ignore Judy's mirthless laugh.

Sherlock smiled weakly at him when he came back in. "You're all wet."

John looked down. His clothes were soaked with floodwater after holding Sherlock. He shrugged. "I'll put some scrubs on after I stitch you up."

John got to work cleaning and stitching the gash on Sherlock's temple. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You want to tell me why you were in the water instead of safe in your apartment?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "I... I thought you were in danger." He opened his eyes. They were bright with pain. "The water was rising so quickly. I looked out the window and... it was overtaking your building."

John stopped working on him, trying to concentrate on his breathing.

"I tried to call you, but you didn't answer. I couldn't just stand there and watch."

John put his hand on Sherlock's arm and stared down at it.

"I made it across the bridge, but the water..." Sherlock stopped for a moment. "The water was deeper than I thought it was on the other side. I lost my footing."

John closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm. He was squeezing Sherlock's arm.

"I managed to grab hold of a tree." His voice grew thick. "I could see your car. The water had picked it up and shoved it against a lamppost."

John opened his eyes and looked up to see tears in Sherlock's eyes. "Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm sorry! The damned thing wouldn't start. I walked here."

"You weren't scheduled to work tonight. I thought..." Sherlock put a trembling hand over his mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock!" John leaned onto him, wrapping an arm around him and tucking his head against Sherlock's neck. "It's all right now."

"I thought I'd lost you!" Sherlock's voice was choked. "The last time I'd seen you I'd slammed a door at you. The last thing I'd said to you was, 'Go away!'"

"Hey, hey..." John lifted his head. "It's okay. It's over." He kissed Sherlock gently. "I'm so sorry!"

"No, _I'm_ sorry! I'm sorry I had my bloody phone off the hook like a child!"

John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. "Stop, Sherlock! _Please_ stop!" He closed his eyes. He could feel Sherlock trembling. He took a deep breath and pulled back to look Sherlock in the eye. "Okay. I'm going to finish stitching this cut now. You're going to rest. And we're going to talk about this later when we're calmer. Do we have a deal?"

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded his head, blinking back his tears.

John smiled though his own tears and kissed Sherlock tenderly. "I love you."

"I love you, too, John."

"Hold still for me, okay?"

"All right."

When John finished taking care of Sherlock's head, he pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed, taking Sherlock's hand in both of his. After several minutes had passed quietly, Sherlock looked down at John and giggled.

John couldn't help grinning at him. "What?"

"The most romantic thing you've ever said to me contained the words 'rat's ass.'" He giggled again. "John Watson, you truly have the soul of a poet."

John laughed. "It's because you bring out the best in me, honey."

Sherlock's eyes widened in shocked pleasure when he heard the endearment. John stood up and kissed Sherlock again, brushing his hair back gently. "I want you to keep resting. I need to check on some other patients."

John managed to deflect his co-workers' questions over the remaining hours of his shift. He checked on Sherlock frequently, assuring him that they would be able to go home after the sun came up.

7:30am

John was dead on his feet. When Mike came in for his shift, he took one look at him and insisted on driving him home. John accepted thankfully, asking with some trepidation if Mike could take Sherlock as well. To John's immense relief, Mike agreed to take them both to Sherlock's place without questioning him. It took longer to get to Sherlock's building than they expected when they had to drive east to find a passable bridge. The destruction all around them was shocking. There was a knot of distress in John's gut. He knew that his apartment had been underwater during the night. He wondered if anything would be salvageable. He needed to tend to his property, but he couldn't fathom leaving Sherlock at the moment.

John thanked Mike profusely and took Sherlock upstairs, straight into a warm shower. Sherlock's whole body had stiffened up from the battering he'd received in the water. Bruises were blooming all over his pale skin. John got into the shower with him, gently shampooing his hair for him while carefully avoiding the stitches in his temple.

"Stay under the warm water for a minute; it'll help your muscles loosen up. I'll be right back," he said.

John dried off and went to the bedroom. After putting on a t-shirt and pajama pants, he grabbed similar clothes for Sherlock. When he returned to the bathroom, he found Sherlock leaning heavily against the shower wall with his eyes closed.

John got him dried off, dressed, and into bed in just a couple of minutes. John crawled into bed with him and wrapped his arms around him. They were both asleep almost immediately.

1:50pm

John was ravenously hungry when he woke. He slipped carefully out of bed without waking Sherlock. _Thank God I went grocery shopping over the weekend. If it were left to Sherlock, we'd starve_. He cooked a frankly ridiculous amount of bacon and eggs and made tea precisely the way Sherlock had taught him.

John set the plates of food and cups of tea on the dresser and crawled onto the bed, nudging Sherlock. Sherlock groaned deeply, but didn't open his eyes. John nudged him again. "Sherlock." Another nudge. "Wake up, gorgeous. I made breakfast."

Sherlock groaned again. "Don't want it."

"Yes, you do. Come on. I've got more medication for you, but I can't give it to you unless you eat."

Sherlock put both hands over his face for a moment. Then he reluctantly pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, whimpering in pain as he moved.

John gently assisted him. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry."

When John had Sherlock fed and medicated, he helped him lie back down. John got dressed in his jogging clothes.

"Are you... Are you going for a _run?_ " Sherlock asked incredulously.

"No, I'm going to check on my apartment. I looked out the window, and it appears it'll be a messy job. I doubt anything at my place has survived, but I have to take a look."

Sherlock looked stricken. "I'm so sorry, John. Give me a moment to dress. I'll help you." He started to sit up, wincing.

John rushed to the bed and gently pushed Sherlock back down. "No, no, no. You're going to stay here and rest."

Sherlock protested. "I should help you!"

"Absolutely not! You're staying here."

Sherlock yielded. "I'm sorry, John. Take my car. The keys are by the phone. Call me if you need anything, all right?"

John smiled weakly. "Of course. Are you sure about the car?"

"Take it."

John chuckled grimly. "I've been wanting to get behind the wheel of that Mustang, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind. I'll be back for dinner. You rest."

"I love you."

John leaned down and kissed him gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I love you, too."

7:20pm

John took his shoes off by the door and left his footlocker in the entryway. He padded to the bedroom to check on Sherlock and found him sleeping deeply. John watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall for a moment before to going to take a shower.

When John was clean and his filthy clothes were in the washer, he went back to the bedroom. Sherlock opened his eyes and began to sit up, wincing. John rushed over to help him sit against the headboard.

"Were you able to salvage anything?"

John paused to compose himself. "I brought back a few things to try to save. Some..."

Sherlock waited while John took another moment.

"Some photos. Some things I had from my time in the army. My old uniform." John was going numb. "Everything's in my footlocker. I left it in the entryway."

Sherlock's arms were around him. "I'm so sorry, John."

John closed his eyes and buried his face in Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was warm and sleep-soft. A tear dropped onto John's shoulder. After a moment, John pulled back and stood up straight.

Sherlock swiped at his eyes and looked up at him. "Did you bring any clothes apart from your uniform?"

John shook his head. "It's a good thing most of my decent clothes had found their way into _your_ closet."

"Your record collection?"

John smiled ruefully. "A disaster. Some of the discs are probably salvageable, but the jackets are a lost cause. I've already brought back everything I want to try to save."

A pained look crossed Sherlock's face. He moved to get up. "We can spread your things out in the office to dry. I've got a fan in the cupboard, and we can open the window."

John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. "Lie back down! I can do it."

Sherlock looked at him sternly. "I'm going to help you. Let me up."

John stepped back. Sherlock moved to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He reached out and took John's hand in both of his. "John, I want you to know that everything I have is yours. The flat. The record collection. The books. _Everything_."

John was shaking his head. "Sherlock, you don't have to..."

Sherlock squeezed his hand. " _Let me finish_."

John closed his mouth and looked down at his feet.

"Everything is yours if you want it. I want you to stay here with me. I want this to be your home. And not just because you've lost your flat. I've wanted you here with me for a long time. If I'm honest, I've wanted you here since the day we met."

John's heart swelled in his chest.

"The office was meant to be the second bedroom. If you're worried about what people will think if you live here with me, we can make it your bedroom."

John's head snapped up. "I don't want my own bedroom!" He dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm so tired of it. And I won't do it anymore."

Sherlock stared down at him, stunned. He put an unsteady hand over his own mouth.

"I love you, Sherlock. I _adore_ you. You're _everything_ to me." John held Sherlock's free hand in both of his. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

Sherlock nodded, overcome.

"I will _never_ ask you to hide again, Sherlock. I almost lost you last night. I could have lost the most important person in my life while keeping him a secret from _every other person I know_."

Sherlock closed his eyes. His hand trembled against his mouth.

"I refuse to worry about other people anymore, Sherlock. You're the one that truly matters."

Sherlock opened his eyes, dropping his hand away from his mouth. "Wh-what about your job?"

"It's already done. Everyone knows by now. If they're going to fire me, so be it. I'll think of something."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Your family?"

"I'll tell my mother as soon as possible. I should do it in person, so it may be a couple of days before I get the chance. But consider it done. Fortunately, I have a feeling Harry may be a bit more understanding than Mom will be."

Sherlock smiled briefly. His face became serious again. "You should think this over for a while before you say anything to your mother. I don't want you to make a rash decision and regret it."

"I won't change my mind, Sherlock. You're incredible, I love you, and I'm done hiding you." John stood up. He put a hand on Sherlock's cheek and bent to kiss him tenderly. When John pulled back, he locked eyes with Sherlock. He took both of Sherlock's hands and squeezed them gently. "I promise you, Sherlock. I won't let anything or anyone come between us again." He kissed Sherlock again, letting go of his hands to wrap his arms around him. Sherlock's arms came up around John's shoulders.

John pulled back and wiped the tears off Sherlock's face. Sherlock smiled radiantly and gently brushed a tear off John's cheek. "Help me up, John. Let's see what we can do to save your photos."


	15. Chapter 15

Thursday, November 24th, 1977

6:40pm

"I still can't believe you cooked a whole turkey for just the two of us."

John finished rinsing the platter and handed it to Sherlock to dry. He shrugged. "Harry and Clara will be here for turkey sandwiches tomorrow. Besides, it's our first Thanksgiving together. I wanted it to be special."

Sherlock grinned at him. "It is. But not because of the turkey."

John smiled back.

Sherlock's grin faded. "I know it's hard, though. Not being with your family."

"You're my family now." John's chest felt tight. He stared into the soapy water.

Sherlock set the platter down and wrapped an arm around John's shoulders. "Yes, John. But I want you to know that I'm sorry that your being with me caused a rift."

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. It's theirs. You're perfect." He leaned his head against Sherlock's chest, closing his eyes and listening to Sherlock's heart beating steadily. After a moment, he stood back up straight. "Let's finish these dishes. It's almost time for the lights."

When they were finished in the kitchen, John turned the lights in the living room off and led Sherlock over to the window. They looked down at the cars clogging the streets as people crowded in for the lighting ceremony.

Sherlock stood behind John, wrapping his arms around John's waist and slouching down to rest his chin on John's right shoulder. John draped his arms over Sherlock's. They waited quietly for a few minutes, looking down at the darkened Plaza. John couldn't help gasping slightly when the Plaza's Christmas lights came on, outlining the buildings and towers below. Sherlock's arms tightened around him.

They stood silently for several more minutes, looking out over the lights. John felt Sherlock tense up slightly. "John, I've been wanting to talk to you about Christmas."

John closed his eyes as his heart tightened painfully. He was glad Sherlock couldn't see his face. He forced his voice to stay steady. "I know. I know you go to England for Christmas every year. I understand, Sherlock." _I know you're going to go. I'm just not sure how I'll make it through without you._

Sherlock pulled his arms out from under John's, leaving one hand at John's waist while he reached for something on his music stand. John turned his head to watch Sherlock pull an envelope from behind a piece of music and press it into John's hand.

"What's this?"

"An airline ticket. Will you come with me?"

John's heart leaped momentarily before dropping. _But I can't. I can't mess up Sherlock's relationship with his family_. John turned to look at Sherlock. "I wish I could, Sherlock. But your family - I don't want to cause a problem."

Disappointment flashed across Sherlock's face. "Why would you cause a problem?"

"Showing up with a male partner in tow will cause a problem, Sherlock." He looked down. "Believe me," he added darkly.

Sherlock put his hand on John's cheek. "John, my parents have known I'm gay for years."

"Them knowing you're gay is one thing. You bringing _me_ into their home is another."

Sherlock bent down and looked into John's eyes. "I wouldn't ask you to go if I didn't think you'd be welcome. I've already talked to them."

John was still nervous. "You're sure?"

"Of course, John. If I weren't, I wouldn't be going myself."

John stared down at the envelope in his hand. Fear sat like a stone in his stomach. He looked back up into Sherlock's eyes and saw worry in them. He took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll go."

Sherlock's smile was brilliant. John instantly felt lighter. He smiled back as he was swept into a tight embrace. "Thank you, John," Sherlock said quietly. "I don't want to go without you."

John squeezed Sherlock back. "I don't want you to, either."

"My mum and dad are going to love you. You'll see."

John closed his eyes. "I hope you're right, Sherlock."

"Don't worry, John. I always am."

John chuckled quietly and gave Sherlock another squeeze. He opened his eyes and turned to face the window again. Sherlock's arms were still wrapped around him. John took another deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his fear to dissipate. He opened the envelope and pulled out the ticket. TWA. Kansas City Mid Continent to London Gatwick. First Class. _First Class?_ John smiled to himself. _He really doesn't do anything halfway, does he?_

He put the ticket back in its envelope and leaned sideways to put the envelope on Sherlock's music stand. He settled back into Sherlock's arms and put his hands over Sherlock's. Sherlock slouched down and rested his chin on John's shoulder again. They looked at the lights quietly for a few more minutes. The traffic on the street below was beginning to move.

John ran his fingers over Sherlock's forearms and pressed back against him. Sherlock flattened his palms and ran his hands up John's chest. He nuzzled into John's neck, holding John against him firmly. John felt his heart quicken. He reached up and put his hand on Sherlock's head, keeping him in place. Sherlock's breath ghosted over John's skin as he sighed and pressed his lips against John's neck.

John shuddered, his blood beginning to rush southward. He grasped at Sherlock's hair as Sherlock dragged his tongue from just above John's collar to his ear and took John's earlobe between his teeth. John gasped quietly and arched his back. He pushed his hips back against Sherlock and found that he was already hard. Sherlock moaned quietly. He pulled John's shirt out of his jeans and slid his hands under it. John closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Sherlock's hands on his skin.

He let Sherlock's hair loose, turned around, and leaned back against the window. It felt cold on his back. He looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock took John's face in both of his hands, looking into John's eyes heatedly. He surged forward and claimed John's mouth in a scorching kiss. John fisted his hands in Sherlock's shirt, pulling him even closer. Sherlock pressed all the way in, pinning John to the window with his body. John groaned against Sherlock's mouth and began working at his buttons.

Sherlock broke the kiss and tipped his upper body back to allow John to open his shirt, attacking John's shirt at the same time. When both of their shirts were open, Sherlock dove back in. He kissed John deeply and stroked his hands over John's upper body. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He ran his hands up Sherlock's back under his shirt, then dragged his fingernails down. Sherlock arched his back and growled against John's mouth. John grabbed hold of Sherlock's ass and pulled his hips tightly against his own. The kiss faltered as both men moaned at the friction.

Sherlock dipped down, dragging his mouth over John's jaw and neck. John's hands made their way into Sherlock's hair as he moved lower. He traced his tongue down and across John's pectoral, pausing to flick it against John's nipple. John gasped quietly. Sherlock kept moving downward over John's stomach. He put one knee on the floor, then the other. He grasped John's waist and looked up. John moaned at the sight of Sherlock on his knees. His mouth dropped open as he looked into the heat in Sherlock's remarkable eyes.

Sherlock opened John's jeans quickly and pushed his underwear down. He trailed his elegant fingers over John's already aching cock. John groaned loudly and let his head fall back against the window with a thud. His whole body convulsed in pleasure as Sherlock took him into his mouth. John stroked his fingers over Sherlock's scalp. He grabbed two handfuls of Sherlock's hair as he pushed forward into his mouth. Sherlock instantly responded, moaning brokenly and clutching at John's ass.

Pleasure surged through every cell in John's body. He arched against the window, crying out uncontrollably. "Oh, Sh-Sherlock, oh, God, _Sherlock!_ "

After several minutes had passed, John was no longer capable of words. Sherlock took John in even deeper, stopping his own breath. His fingers dug into John's hips. He pulled back just far enough to gasp for air before plunging back down. John's entire body was shaking hard. He was completely lost in pleasure, his orgasm approaching rapidly. Sherlock rose up to take another quick, shuddering breath and dropped back into place. John pawed at Sherlock's head in an attempt at warning him before gasping deeply as his vision whited out.

John stopped breathing. He clutched desperately at Sherlock's hair as he came incredibly hard. As he finished, he gasped for air. He loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair and looked down, panting and quivering. As John watched, Sherlock released him and dropped back on his heels, lowering his head. Sherlock's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. John bent down unsteadily and cradled Sherlock's face in his hands. It took him a moment to regain the ability to speak. "You okay, Sherlock?"

Sherlock gripped John's forearms and looked up. His eyes burned intently into John's. He was visibly trembling with arousal. He nodded his head slowly.

John tucked himself back into his underwear but left his jeans unbuttoned. He took both of Sherlock's hands in his. "Come here, gorgeous." He pulled Sherlock up onto his feet and wrapped one arm tightly around his waist to steady him. "I want you on the bed. I want you comfortable." He kissed Sherlock firmly on the mouth and guided him into their bedroom.

Their bedroom was lit only by the pale light coming through the windows. John threw the covers back and began pulling Sherlock's clothes off of him, stopping frequently as Sherlock continually pulled him in to kiss him desperately. John giggled breathlessly. "Let me get your clothes off!" He bent down to finish removing Sherlock's trousers and underwear.

Sherlock swayed. " _John_." He braced his arms on John's back and lifted each foot in turn.

When John finally had Sherlock's clothes off, he tipped him back onto the bed. His fair skin glowed in the faint light. _God, he's so beautiful_.

Sherlock stretched sideways across the large bed and fixed his eyes on John's. "You too, John. _Now_."

"Yes, yes." John let out another breathless giggle as he yanked his shirt the rest of the way off and threw his jeans and underwear somewhere behind him. Sherlock reached out as John crawled onto the bed and dragged him down into a searing kiss.

John hovered over Sherlock, letting him control the kiss. Sherlock was tense and trembling beneath him. After a few minutes, John took control, kissing Sherlock deeply and settling his body on top of Sherlock's. He nudged his knees between Sherlock's and stroked his hands down Sherlock's sides to his waist. Sherlock whimpered as John rolled his hips against him. John dragged both hands back up Sherlock's sides and over his arms. He gripped both of Sherlock's forearms and pulled them away from John's body. Sherlock made a bereft little noise that turned into a whine of arousal as John pushed his arms over his head and pinned his wrists to the mattress.

John pulled back to look. Sherlock had tipped his head back. His eyes fluttered closed as his mouth dropped open. He tugged lightly at John's hold on his wrists and pushed his hips up against John's. His breath was coming in gasps punctuated by whimpers. John's dog tags rested against his chest.

John was overwhelmed. For a moment, he simply watched Sherlock in wonder. He was amazed that this gorgeous, incredible man had given himself to John so completely. As he watched, Sherlock let out a keening sound and opened his eyes. "John," he whimpered. "John, _please_."

John smiled wolfishly at him. He rolled his hips as he bent down, wringing a cry of pleasure from Sherlock. He kept Sherlock's wrists pinned to the mattress as he kissed him deeply. Sherlock arched his back, panting against John's mouth. John continued thrusting his hips against Sherlock, appreciating each whimper and cry he was able to draw out of him.

John began to move lower, sliding his body over Sherlock's. He kissed his way down Sherlock's neck and collarbone and sighed against his skin. "My God, Sherlock. Do you have _any idea_ how sexy you are?" He dragged his tongue down Sherlock's pectoral. "The way you move against me - it's _intoxicating_." He circled his tongue over Sherlock's nipple and was rewarded with a gasp and a shudder. "I think about you all the time. I _dream_ about you." He was forced to release Sherlock's wrists as he moved down to Sherlock's belly. Sherlock's hands found their way into John's hair. "I can't get over how _breathtakingly beautiful_ you are." He took hold of Sherlock's cock, causing Sherlock to convulse with pleasure. "You're the most extraordinary man I've ever known. I didn't know it was possible to love someone as much as I love you." He dipped lower and took Sherlock's cock into his mouth.

Sherlock's fingers tightened in John's hair. He cried out helplessly, writhing under John and gasping for air. John sucked harder when he sensed that Sherlock was nearing his peak. He moaned around Sherlock's cock and felt him go over the edge with a loud cry.

John pulled back just enough to swallow around him. When Sherlock went limp, his hands sliding out of John's hair, John released him and crawled forward. Sherlock wound his arms around him and pulled him close as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh, _God_ , John. I love you so much."

John wrapped himself around Sherlock. He rested his head on Sherlock's chest and listened to his heart as it pounded wildly. Sherlock's breathing gradually calmed and deepened. His heartbeat slowly returned to its normal pace. John closed his eyes and let himself drift toward sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't sure how much time had passed. He looked at the faint light coming in through the windows. It was different now that the Plaza's Christmas lights were on. Brighter. Richer. He watched it play over Sherlock's body, the light and shadow shifting as Sherlock's chest rose and fell gently with his breathing. John trailed his fingertips over Sherlock's collarbone and down his chest. As John's fingers passed lightly over his abdominal muscles, Sherlock jerked and snickered. He captured John's hand with his own. "That tickles," he muttered with a sleepy grin. He laced their fingers together and rested their joined hands on his belly.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, John." Sherlock squeezed John's hand lightly. "What is it?"

"Well, you know I spent the first few weeks after the hospital let me go clearing out my old apartment and replacing things I lost in the flood."

"Yes," Sherlock answered quietly. He stroked his thumb over the back of John's hand.

"And then it took some time to get my head together after... everything that happened with my family."

Sherlock pulled his opposite arm around John more tightly, gathering him closer. "Yes."

"And you know that over the last couple of weeks, I've been contacting as many people as I can, asking around about possible job openings."

"Yes."

"But I've kind of had this idea in the back of my head." John took a moment to compose himself. He took a deep breath. "I was thinking, maybe instead of looking for another job at a hospital or a clinic, maybe I could... start my own practice."

John let his head rest on Sherlock's shoulder. "The thing is, it would be a while before I'd actually make any money. There are the startup costs, of course, and it would take time to build a patient base large enough to support a practice. Maybe... maybe a long time, given my... reputation at this point." John's nerves were getting the best of him. _It could take ages before I make any money. Sherlock might not appreciate paying my way for that long._

He took another deep breath. "Do you think it's a stupid idea?"

Sherlock hadn't said anything. John lifted his head to look at him. Sherlock's smile was incandescent. "I think it's _brilliant_ , John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! A HUGE thank you to subscribers! ❤️


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